Rules of Engagement
by leuska
Summary: "He narrows his eyes at Kate's back, frowning, a tinge of challenge still running through his veins, defiance clearly evident in his glare. She's obviously upset with him, but she's also being completely unfair. He's not the one who accused her of jeopardizing their relationship after all." Set somewhere starting S05.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N - So here I am back at last with a new multichapter. It's definitely a smaller project than DttW, but I hope you'll still enjoy reading it. This idea is not particularly original and I know it's been already done, many times over probably, though I don't recall ever reading anything strictly concentrating on this. Either way, there is a reason why I picked this topic (apart from obviously wanting very, very badly to write it), which will be revealed later in the story. But enough of the boring stuff for now, read and let me know what you think. _

_Also, Nik47, you are an angel in the form of a skilled, wonderful, patient beta!_**  
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Set somewhere starting S5 probably, expecting Castle's and Beckett's relationship is still a secret.

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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT **

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**Chapter 1  
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"You have to get a grip on yourself, Castle," she growls, her hands squeezing the steering wheel.

"It's not like anyone has noticed, Kate. _Relax_," he drawls smugly, that careless casualness of his tone driving her over the roof.

She's angry with him. Well, not angry really, but definitely irritated. He's been reckless at the precinct lately, stealing touches and caresses whenever he thinks no one's looking, always smiling just a little too brightly, grinning and teasing her a tad too saucily.

As of yet, they've managed to keep their relationship a secret, but that's due more to luck than anything else. And at the rate Castle's going with his open, shameless flirtations, Kate doubts they'll last another week.

"Why can't you just keep your hands to yourself?" she bursts out, her eyes leaving the morning traffic briefly in order to scowl at him.

"Hey!" he protests loudly, his eyebrows shooting skyward in disbelief at her accusation. "You've been the initiating tease in at least _half_ of the incidents under review!"

She snorts indignantly. "Yeah, right."

"No, I mean it, Beckett!" he defends. "What about those vicious little smirks you're always throwing my way, or that sultry wink you sent me the other day? That was _not_ cool!"

Okay, so it's possible she might share in a_ small_ amount of the blame here. But still.

"Yeah, well, we'll just have to learn to control ourselves better when we're around each other at work," she states, leaning into a sharp right turn, her cruiser smoothly following Esposito's around the corner. "We've gotta be more careful, Castle. Lanie's been sniffing around for weeks, demanding to know who the mystery guy I'm supposed to be having sex with is," she complains, glancing over at him again. She spots that annoyingly dreamy and oh-so-satisfied grin blossoming across his face at her words, and she aims a slap at his chest.

"Stop it!" she admonishes, glaring as his grin merely widens. "I'm serious, Castle. If Gates gets wind of this, you're out of the precinct for sure!" That finally seems to sober him up. _Good_. He needs to get real about this, because it's important, and she's not willing to lose him. He's her partner, in every sense of the word, and she needs him.

They come to an abrupt halt, parking close behind Esposito and Ryan. Throwing a last warning glance in Castle's direction, she retrieves their safety vests from the back seat, shoving his a little too roughly into his chest.

"Now put this on, and act _normal_!"

He pouts at her, snatching the vest from her fingers before stepping out of the car and sulking his way over to the boys. He studiously ignores her as she joins them, throwing her own vest over her head and pulling the Velcro straps closed.

"I still can't understand why we have to put these on," he grumbles, refusing to look at her, directing his question towards Ryan instead. "We're just canvassing. Knocking on doors, asking questions. Where's the danger in that?"

She knows he's just trying to provoke her, knows he's still irked about her comments in the car and looking for a bit of payback, but he's just exceeded her patience limit, and she's done. She cuts off Ryan with a gesture before he can field the question and rounds on Castle, poking her finger into his unprotected chest.

"In case you haven't noticed, Castle, we're not in Manhattan anymore. Not that that matters, because it's _protocol_. You can get yourself shot on your own time, but on my clock, you follow _my_ rules. Now shut up and put your damn vest on, or you're staying in the car." She shoves him one more time for good measure before marching off.

Ryan and Esposito exchange a smirk before turning to Castle with raised eyebrows, blatantly slipping on their own Kevlar as they wait for him to make a move. He narrows his eyes at Kate's back, frowning, a tinge of challenge still running through his veins, defiance clearly evident in his glare.

She's obviously upset with him, but she's also being _completely_ unfair. _He's _not the one who accused _her_ of jeopardizing their relationship after all. And he definitely didn't deserve the verbal _or_ physical lashing she just gave him, in front of the _boys_ no less! Still, he doesn't dare to object, not when she's this angry and obviously serious as a heart attack.

He finally gives up, petulantly pulling the vest over his head, all the while ignoring Ryan and Esposito's badly masked snorts at his apparent cowardice.

"There, happy?" he mumbles childishly to no one in particular as the boys set off towards Kate. He jerks the Velcro into place and follows them. "Can I go play with the other kids now, _Mom_?" His snarky comment is just loud enough for all three of the waiting detectives to hear, and Esposito can't help a snigger, seeming to drive Kate's irritation levels even higher.

"Sure you can, _Ricky_," she throws over her shoulder in a sugary voice. "Just play nice and don't steal Espo's toys. He's particularly attached to his tea set."

She jerks open the door and disappears inside, ignoring Esposito's indignant 'hey!' and Ryan's amused snort.

"Shut up!" the Latino detective growls at his partner before throwing a dark look in Castle's direction. "Let's go," he commands grumpily.

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They've got testimony from their vic's cab driver claiming he picked her up from this apartment building in Brooklyn Heights before dropping her at a street corner in Lower East Side where she was later killed, but they've yet to find out why she was here in the first place, or who she was meeting with. All they know is that the cabbie described her as being 'extremely angry and upset' when she hopped in his car. So now they get to go door-to-door, flashing a photo of their vic and asking residents for any information they might have. The hope is that they'll find someone who might have seen or heard something that night, something that brings them closer to cracking this so far fruitless case wide open.

They start at the top of the building and work their way down floor by floor, apartment by apartment. Half of the doors remain firmly closed though, and those which do swing open mostly reveal the scowling demeanors of not-too-cooperative residents, all of whom are unwilling to talk once they spot the police badges on display.

So far they've found nothing, and Kate is starting to reconsider the intelligence of this move – if their killer does actually live here, they might well be giving themselves away. Hell, they probably already have. Still, they're nearly halfway through, and the element of surprise is pretty much blown anyway, so they might as well finish the whole building.

Castle is now three doors to her left, and Ryan and Espo are interviewing the residents of the apartments in between. Surprisingly enough, this particular corridor has been more cooperative than the rest, its residents actually striking up conversations with the inquiring detectives. Unfortunately, many of the interviewees have simply taken advantage of this opportunity to complain about their neighbors, or the high crime rate in their community. No one seems to know a thing about the victim herself, and the detectives are still completely empty-handed.

Beckett sighs as another door slams in her face then turns to watch her colleagues' progress. She can hear Castle banging on the next door, his voice booming over the boys', and she doesn't know whether to roll her eyes or go over and smack him upside that pompous head of his at hearing his words.

"NYPD, open up!"

Okay, so he's obviously still sulking at her earlier reprimands in the car, along with those in front of Ryan and Espo, because this is just another petty display of rebellious defiance. He knows only too well how much she dislikes it when he announces himself as NYPD. He is _not_ a cop. Despite his great achievements with the force, he's just not a cop, and Kate hates the fact that she has to sometimes remind him of that. He's a civilian consultant, without any real authority or power, without a gun to protect himself in times of need, and he should never forget that, for his own protection as well as for the safety of them all.

She chooses to ignore it for now, making a mental note to tell him off later, concentrating instead on her next door, which doesn't open even after several loud raps from her knuckles. She gives up and heads farther down the corridor, stepping around the boys in order to try her luck with the last apartment at the end of the hall. She's still only halfway to Castle, just passing an exasperated Ryan, who's being chatted up by an old lady cradling a cat in her arms, when the door the writer's been banging on whips open, throwing him slightly off-balance. She smirks automatically at the sight of her partner – his fist still hanging in mid-air, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. And there's no time for her to even analyze that flicker of fright which flashes in his eyes before three gunshots blast through the air, bouncing and echoing off the walls of the narrow corridor, three flares of painful light slicing through the dimness, momentarily blinding Kate's view.

She instinctively drops to the ground, protecting herself as best she can in the coverless space, crouching into a minimal exposure position and curling into a tight ball of limbs and flesh as she launches herself to the side, the deafening sounds continuing to reverberate through her skull. Her shoulders hit the cheap wallpaper of the corridor at the same time she draws her gun, her eyes scanning the narrow space. Her gaze rises just in time to see the whole scene unfold before her in terrifying clarity: Castle's back slamming hard against the wall opposite the apartment's open door, the same door the shots came from. There is the shortest of moments when everything stills – silent and motionless, and Kate swears she can hear both their heartbeats – before his body crumples heavily to the floor, his legs giving out and his long, muscular frame sliding limply down to the ground, limbs sprawled out in all directions, eerily still and unmoving.

Kate's heart stops, just stops, with uncontrolled dread, and a single choked cry of pain catches in her throat, the sound never making it past her paralyzed lips.

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_A/N: Yes, there is more where this came from._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - Ladies and Gentlemen, Nik47 is the sweetiest beta out there. *hands off, she's mine!* _

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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 2**

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There's commotion in the apartment now, sounds of scuffling feet, then all hell breaks loose. Shouts ring out, and panicked residents slam their doors shut behind themselves as they dash for safety. Ryan is shouting at her now, along with Esposito, but she can't hear them, can't distinguish the words, can't comprehend what they're trying to tell her. The only thing she's focused on is Castle's unmoving body on the ground, mere feet in front of her, just out of reach. She can't breathe, can't shift, can't peel her eyes from the horrific sight before her, even as Esposito hurls himself to his feet and runs into the still-open apartment, chasing after the shooter. Ryan's already calling for backup and an ambulance – _"Send one immediately, we've got an officer down!_"His gun's drawn, his eyes closely scanning the corridor, securing it visually before making any sort of move from his position.

Finally, Kate's instincts propel her into action, too, help her to unglue her feet, unfolding her suddenly leaden body from the ground. She can't stand, can't bring her legs to obey the command relays from her brain to rise and lock upright – _Oh God, Castle. Castle, Castle, Castle… _– and she falls almost immediately back down to all fours, panic forcing her forward, her hands and knees moving almost independently of her thoughts as she crawls across the remaining space separating her from Castle's still body.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

Her hands shake terribly as she lowers her gun to the ground next to his side, her eyes huge at the sight of a double set of still-smoking holes gaping in the fabric covering his chest, along with another one in the area of his stomach. Her heart is pounding beneath her ribcage, her lungs burning with a severe lack of oxygen, and she's hiccupping as she tries to breathe, but she still can't, she can't, and _oh_ _God, Castle._ She can't breathe.

Only then does her brain catch up, and she realizes – _Thank you, thank you, God_ – he's wearing the vest. His _Writer_ vest – his sweet, beloved, wonderful, life-saving _Writer_ vest. It doesn't completely ease her mind, not even close, but it takes off the very edge of her panic and inner anguish, because he's been shot – _God, he's been shot_ – three times in the chest at nearly point blank range. He's still out cold and there's no way of knowing for sure whether he'll be alright or not, but he was wearing his vest and if it worked, if it stopped those bullets, then it probably just saved his life.

She sinks to her knees at his side, bending over his unnaturally still, crumpled body.

_Please, be alright, please, Rick, just be okay._

He still hasn't moved, and even as her trembling hands skim his sides, a feather-light touch, her stomach is nauseated at the sight and feel of his lifeless form beneath her fingertips, the sharp smell of burnt Kevlar adding to her queasiness.

"Castle," she calls, croaks really, her voice feeble, eyes already filled with tears. "Castle," she rasps again, barely above a whisper as her lungs constrict, panic and fear gripping her, stalling the empty air in her lungs.

She throws a desperate, pleading look at Ryan over her shoulder as she cradles Castles limp body to her own, his head lolling from side to side in her lap. _Help me, please_, _somebody help me,_ her look beseeches. _Find a way to help me, help him_. But all she can see reflected in her colleague's eyes is her own helpless despair. Her hand comes to rest against the side of Rick's face, a tear sliding down her cheek. She's not Beckett right now, she's Kate, and she has no idea what to do, no idea what happens next, what words or actions are required. She's terrified, frozen in fear, unable to do anything but kneel on the ground at his side, her fingers caressing his cheeks and combing through his hair over and over and over again. This is Castle, _her _Castle, and he's just been shot.

It takes a couple of agonizingly long minutes – or maybe it's just seconds? – before there's finally a cough, a groan, a stilted inhalation, and then Castle begins to stir.

_Oh thank God, thank God, thank God._

"Rick," she calls his name in a whisper, tries not to jostle him too much, even as her shaky hands firmly grasp his face. She can breathe again, Kate suddenly realizes, she can _breathe_ again. Her lungs finally expand, taking in huge amounts of air, her heart hammering painfully away in her chest as she waits for him to respond, to finally open his eyes.

And he does. His lashes flutter open to reveal the impossible blue of his irises, an ocean filled with pain and confusion, but at least he's alive, alive and conscious. It's enough for now. It's so much more than enough for now.

His eyes narrow, his vision blurring in and out of focus before his gaze finally sharpens in on her, and she sees it, recognizes the shift and gives him a tremulous smile, open and wide even through her tears.

"Hey, Castle," she whispers, her voice gentle.

He takes a moment, regarding her steadily for a beat before a loud groan escapes his lips, his eyes falling shut.

"Ooooooooouch!" he moans, the tiniest pout gracing his lips.

She barks out a laugh, can't help herself. The contraction of her muscles jostles his body, obviously causing him pain, and she stops before she even really starts, but her reaction is involuntary, more hysterical than humorous – an automatic response to his voice, his presence, his _life_. He's still with her.

"Lie still," she instructs, infusing her voice with as soothing a murmur as she can manage as her hands skim across his sides and chest, fingers gliding over the vest. "The ambulance is already on its way."

He blinks at her, in either agreement or confusion, she can't be sure, then tries to send her a small, reassuring smile. He fails miserably, his face contorting in pain, another agonized moan escaping his lips.

She goes as still as possible, freezing her position, not wanting to add any further to his discomfort. His head is resting across her thighs, one of her hands cradling it in support and the other resting lightly over his heart, the gesture both reassuring and familiar at the same time. She can't feel his heart, though, can't feel its beat, and she tries not to panic at that, understanding rationally that it's just due to the thickness of the vest. Still, she can't help but wish that she could feel it, feel the steady thrum of it beneath her fingers, the warm cadence keeping time with her own.

"Don't move, Castle," she urges in warning, feeling him squirm under her palm as he tries to get some leverage. He's obviously still confused, still slightly out of it. The overwhelming force of the impact must have really done a number on him, shocking and short-circuiting his system, his ability to actually process what's happening.

"What hurts?" she inquires as her fingers unsuccessfully attempt to gently probe his torso through the vest before returning back to his face, beaten by the inability to do any kind of assessment through the thick material. But at least she can stroke his cheek, maintaining some sort physical contact. She's surprised at the apparent calmness in her voice. Inside she's trembling, shaking with adrenaline at seeing him shot right before her eyes, and it's almost impossible to concentrating her jittery mind on anything but the vision of Castle's limp body sliding down the wall, along with the sound of her own hammering heart as she watched it happen.

He doesn't answer her question immediately, obviously mulling it over, taking stock of his injuries as he tries to squirm again beneath her firm grip.

"Everything," he wheezes out at last, eyes squeezed shut, his head still lolling in her lap. "Chest and stomach, mostly," he manages to rasp through tightly compressed lips, his focus narrowing down to those parts of his body that thrum with the most intensive pain. He's slowly growing more alert, and Kate can feel his agitation increasing as well.

"I know, I know," she murmurs soothingly, trying to calm him with the tone of her voice as well as her proximity, her own shaky fingers combing through the softness of his hair over and over again. "Just lie still and try to relax, okay? I've got you. Help will be here soon."

She turns to Ryan, raising her eyebrows at him in question, demanding a positive affirmation of her statement. He's on the phone, but nods at her, mouthing '_five minutes_' before speaking aloud to the person on the other end of the line. She turns her head back to Castle, her eyes roaming over his frame, wishing there was a way for her to see his injuries for herself, make sure somehow that he'll really be alright.

"What the hell-" Castle starts, taking in a gasp of air before he can continue, wincing in pain as he does, "-happened?" She doesn't like the way he wheezes when he breathes, the way he's unable to inhale properly, his face clammy and bloodless.

"You were shot," she tells him evenly, forcing his body down again as he jerks up in surprise. "Shhh," she soothes. "Just lie still and don't move. It won't be much longer and help will be here, but you have to relax," she urges him in a gentle yet stern command.

He's becoming more and more restless, frustration increasing along with his state of awareness, slight traces of panic beginning to infuse his features. It's a look Kate doesn't like. He's already having trouble breathing, and she doesn't want him to add fear to the mix as well. Her attempts to calm him down are unsuccessful, though. He continues to writhe in her arms, agonized groans escaping his lips as pain visibly racks his limp frame.

"Can't…can't…" he rasps, gasping for air. His face is growing considerably paler and sweatier by the minute and Kate's chest constricts in alarm and dismay.

"Can't…breathe…well," he manages at last.

Dread grips her insides again, blood roaring in her ears, deafening her to anything else but his needy gasps. He must see it, in her eyes, the panic, for he somehow manages to seek out her hand, squeezing it tightly to get her attention. The surprising contact does it, anchors them both. Noticing _her_ anxiety seems to make him want to quell down his own fear somehow.

"Can you...can you pull it…off of me?" he pleads. "Just get it off. Please. Can't breathe..."

_Pull it off? Oh, the vest. _

Its weight must feel crushing on his tender ribs, his aching chest and abused lungs_._ She hesitates, takes a split second to consider whether she's even allowed to do it herself or whether she should wait for the EMTs.

"Please, Kate. Just…just get it off of me."

She does. God help her, but she can't _not_ do anything when he's pleading with her like that, helpless and teary and hurt. She just hopes she's not doing more harm than good through her actions, a thought which nearly terrifies her into immobility, even as her jittery fingers tear at the Velcro straps on both sides of his waist. She makes sure they're completely loose before carefully slipping her hands between his shirt and the underside of the vest, gently tugging and pulling it up, up and over his head.

And it's smooth right up until the last moment, when there's a slight resistance at the bottom of the vest, near his naval, causing his hips to jerk sharply, his torso following the upward pull of her hands as his upper body curls in on itself. A scream of pain rips from his throat, the agonizing sound filling the corridor. She nearly drops the vest back down on his chest, her eyes blurring with tears, but the resistance, whatever it was, has finally disappeared, so she quickly pulls the remaining length of vest up and finally over his head, letting it drop to the ground behind him with a heavy thud, the back side of the Kevlar still trapped between his shoulders and the ground.

Her eyes quickly seek out his face again through the tears – his lids are squeezed tightly shut in pain, his teeth gritting as he tries to breathe through it – then trace lower over his body, to his injured chest, her unsteady fingers following along in the wake of her gaze, intently studying the dark blue fabric of his shirt.

There don't seem to be any injuries to his chest, no apparent ones anyway, and there aren't any visible tears in the soft material. But then her eyes fall lower, to his stomach, and she gasps. There's a hole in the shirt, high up on his abdomen, and there's blood. Oh God, there's blood. Not too much, but enough to let her know the Kevlar didn't hold against the force of the last bullet.

"God, you're shot," she breathes out, the sheer shock of it somewhat dampening the surge of horror she knows she should be feeling right now. She's thrown off even further when he seems to find this amusing, choking out a bark of laughter that quickly transforms into a fit of painful coughing.

"Thought…thought we'd already established that," he chokes out in a hoarse, feeble voice, smirking despite the pain and his obvious discomfort.

"Stop it!" she growls, her tone harsh and unforgiving, even as her voice wavers slightly. "It's not funny, Castle."

"Well," he rasps, "it's a little…funny."

She shakes her head wordlessly, biting her lip furiously to hold back a new wave of tears. She's finally cracking, opening up at the seams, her emotions spilling through, flooding over her tough exterior. Because for Christ's sake, her boyfriend's just been shot, right in front of her eyes, and she can't find a single fucking thing amusing about it. She wants to cry, she wants to shout, wants to hit something hard, inflict pain, she wants to crawl all over him and hide in the crook of his neck, pretend this never happened, but she can't do any of those things and it's tearing her apart.

He must see it, too, the despair in her eyes, the suppressed fury, because he grows more somber at once. "Hey," he calls to her softly. "Hey, Kate, I'm fine. I'm…I'm okay. Just gimme a minute or two and…I'll be just fine. I'm fine," he keeps reassuring her, over and over again, but his eyes are slipping shut more often than not, and that awful wheezing sound escaping his chest grows harsher with each new labored breath he takes.

He's _not_ fine. Not even close. There's a gaping hole in his stomach, fresh blood staining the fabric of his shirt dark crimson even as they speak. Another tear slips down her cheek, her fingers momentarily leaving his jaw to quickly wipe at her face.

"Just hold on," she urges, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

_Please, let him be alright._

Suddenly there's a commotion behind her in the corridor, and she hears Ryan calling out then talking to someone, giving a rapid-fire explanation of what happened –paramedics,_ finally!_ – but she can't tear her eyes away from Castle, her hand squeezing his, hard, never letting go.

'_I love you'_ he mouths silently, and she shakes her head at him sharply, hurt and furious at him for the gesture, refusing the sentiment, because it smacks of some sort of finality, some sort of goodbye. '_Later'_ she mouths back, her eyes flashing with anger even as fresh tears slip past her eyelids and down her cheeks.

"Ma'am, we'll need you to step away," a professional voice commands from behind her.

She doesn't budge at first, doesn't want to let go of him. But then Ryan is there, his hand on her shoulder, reassuring her, asking her silently to let the paramedics do their job, and finally she does let go, stepping away to make room for the sudden flood of medical personnel which surrounds Castle, blocking him completely from her sight.


	3. Chapter 3

****_A/N: You wanna have more? Appeal to Nik47 - my dear beta - in the reviews. She's the one who holds all the cards now. And she needs some pushing! (love you hon!) ;) _

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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 3**

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She drives in the ambulance with him. She doesn't even ask if she's allowed, she merely jumps in before the paramedic closes the door behind Castle's gurney.

He's got an oxygen mask placed over his face and an IV drip attached at his elbow. His breathing has worsened considerably over the course of the past few minutes and the bullet wound just seems to be getting worse, a lazy but constant flow of blood leaking out from it across his now exposed abdomen, running down his side in steady red ribbons and staining the remnants of what used to be his shirt. The EMT seems optimistic, though, calm and assured in his movements, methodically efficient in monitoring Castle's heart rate and other vitals as the blare of the ambulance's siren clears a path for them through the packed streets of the city.

Kate's sitting slumped on the side bench, her knees having given out on her mere seconds after she got into the vehicle. Her fingers squeeze one of Castle's hands tightly as she observes him in silence, unwilling to disturb the strange calmness which infuses the narrow, closed-off space. His eyes are locked tightly shut and he's obviously concentrating intensely on his breathing – still heavy and shallow and painful – as the paramedic carefully applies a thick strip of gauze over his still-bleeding wound. Castle's been unusually quiet and obedient while listening to the other man's instructions, and the lack of his typical theatrics only serves as further evidence to Kate of how badly he really must be doing right now.

She tries to make herself as small an obstacle as possible for the busy EMT, not wanting to get in the way, but at the same time, she hovers as close to Castle as she can get, occasionally squeezing his fingers tightly to let him know she's still there. The ambulance hits a particularly large pothole, and the vest draped across her knees shifts, almost sliding onto the rattling gurney beside him. She grasps at it reflexively with her free hand, pulling it back into her lap, completely surprised to find it there. She must have grabbed it back at the apartment building when the paramedics arrived, clinging to his vest as a substitute of sorts when she couldn't touch Castle himself. Her fingers spasm around the Kevlar. She hadn't even noticed it was still in her possession until now. She's still wearing hers.

Kate's fingers stroke the coarse material absentmindedly as she continues to regard Castle's unmoving body, silently praying for the wound in his stomach to be simple, uncomplicated, nothing more than a minor injury, something he'll be fully recovered from in a matter of weeks, or even days. But she knows it's rarely as easy as that. When it comes to injuries in the chest and torso region, it's often the innocuous-looking damage which proves the most fatal in the end.

The sudden ring of her cell phone shrills sharply through the enclosed cabin, causing Castle to jump in surprise then groan immediately at the movement, making Beckett wince as well. The accusing look she receives from the paramedic as she quickly fishes the offending device from her pocket doesn't do much to alleviate her conscience either, but she'd asked Ryan to call her with an update on the shooter as soon as there was anything new to report, and she's not at all surprised to see the younger detective's name flashing across her ID screen.

"Beckett," she barks into the phone, holding Castle's curious gaze. Her other hand disentangles from Castle's fingers, traveling to his head instead, caressing his hair before she cradles his face in silent apology.

"Hey, Kate, how is he?" The heaviness behind Ryan's usage of her first name is not lost on her.

"So far so good," she sighs curtly, hoping beyond hope that she's telling the truth.

"We're right behind you guys."

"Espo's with you?" she asks in surprise.

"Yeah. He caught the bastard. Guy tried to get out through the window, use the fire escape, but he lost his grip on the last level. Fell 10 feet and snapped his right leg."

She can clearly make out the grim satisfaction in Ryan's voice, and she can't help but feel a twinge of malicious pleasure as well. She hears Espo adding something to Ryan's description in the background, his tone harsh and furious, and she strains in vain to make it out over the sounds of rushing traffic and the rhythmic beeping of Castle's monitors. "What did he say?" she asks Ryan, pressing the receiver more firmly against her ear.

There's a beat of silence and then: "He said the fall somehow broke the guy's nose and gave him a black eye as well. But Espo has no idea how that could have happened..."

Something dark and vicious unfurls deep down in Kate's gut, and her fingers squeeze into a tight, angry fist around the phone, the force of her grip ruthlessly crushing it. "That's too bad," she replies tonelessly. "Guess the bastard should have been a bit more careful about how he fell."

She catches the sound of a humorless laugh from Espo before Ryan continues. "Point is we got him, Kate. He's on his way to the hospital now, and from there it'll be straight into lock-up. He won't get away," the detective adds in a softer tone and Kate nods into the receiver, still too high-strung and tense, before realizing that Ryan can't actually see her. "Okay," she acknowledges simply.

Hushed tones can be heard on the other end of the line again, and Kate listens half-heartedly for a moment as the boys heatedly discuss something. Then Ryan's nervous voice returns full-force. "We were also wondering…" he starts uneasily, "whether someone should call Castle's family, let them know what's happened."

Her breath catches in her throat. _Oh God. Alexis. Martha_.

"I-" she starts, but her mouth is dry. There is _no _way she can make that phone call, not when she doesn't know yet, not when she doesn't know whether he'll be alright or not. There are more angry sounds coming from the phone, a scuffle of sorts, before Ryan's voice rings into her ear again.

"Javi offered to do it."

She almost, _almost_, smiles at the sudden mental image of her two colleagues playing a morbidly quick round of paper-rock-scissors, Esposito grudgingly acknowledging his defeat to a relieved Ryan. _Javi offered_. Right. Still, she's immeasurably thankful to both men for their consideration.

"Thanks, guys."

Castle coughs suddenly, wheezing as he tries and fails to take a deep, satisfying breath, his lungs protesting the notion, seemingly fighting him every step of the way. Then he bursts into a fit of coughs, his eyes open and huge, panic clouding his face. Kate snaps the phone shut without another word and shoots a terrified look at the paramedic, but he only gives a small, reassuring nod; Castle's vitals are still okay. The coughing is nothing to worry about at this point. She lets out a breath, appeased for now.

She rises from the bench slightly, bending over Castle's body and putting her face directly into his line of sight, one hand bracing on the side of his head, the other coming to rest right over his exposed chest. She doesn't really lay it there, though, merely hovers her fingers over his surprisingly cold flesh in a light, barely-there touch. He's still breathing hard, rapid and thready and panicked, and she knows it's making everything worse. His alertness, his pain, his fear – all of it.

"It's alright, Castle," She murmurs, "It's alright. Just calm down. You gotta stop the quick and shallow breathing or you'll hyperventilate." She knows that feeling only too well, the panic of imminent suffocation, the belief that you'll never be able to draw another breath again. She knows.

"Just try to relax and take slow, long, deliberate breaths. I'm here, okay? I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you."

_Not again._

One of his hands creeps up slowly towards his head, groping clumsily for a moment before finding the oxygen mask and struggling to pull it away from his face. "My…my chest," he rasps. "Can't breathe. Heavy."

She grips his wrist to stop him then reaches out and pulls the mask back up over his nose and mouth. "Leave this on," she commands, gently but sternly. "It's gonna help you breathe."

She searches her memory for what she'd been taught at the Academy, about how to treat and communicate with an injured person, whether victim or colleague, but she comes up empty-handed. Still, she has some first-hand experience with what being shot actually feels like, and despite being out cold for most of it, she remembers how very wrong, how confining and restrictive and claustrophobic a simple thing like an oxygen mask can feel to a person struggling to survive.

"You were shot, Castle," she repeats, forcing her voice into a smooth, soothing tone, waiting until his eyes catch hers, waiting for that spark of acknowledgement at her words before she proceeds. "The force of the impact must have compressed your chest, maybe even cracked some of your ribs. That's a lot of pressure on your pulmonary system, so you need to try to take it easy, make this as easy on your body as possible. The heaviness and ache you feel against your chest, your heart, that's normal, okay? It's normal." She looks at the paramedic, checking for confirmation as he gives her a small, nearly imperceptible nod. "Don't try to fight against it – it'll only make things worse."

He holds her gaze, his own intense and full of pain, the comprehension but also the hurt in his eyes nearly making her sick. But at least there's the slightest dip of his head in acknowledgement of her words, and she both hears and feels his breathing change slightly as he tries to listen to her advice, his chest rising and falling more smoothly beneath her outstretched fingers.

She looks back at the paramedic and asks for an ETA.

"Five minutes," the man answers distractedly, his hands busy replacing the gauze which covers Castle's stomach, because it's already completely soaked through, wet and crimson with blood. Kate tries not to watch too closely.

* * *

She doesn't know how she ended up here, inside, but she's standing in the corner of an ER trauma area, watching from a couple feet away as the doctors and nurses busy themselves over an injured Castle, who's already been transferred from the EMT gurney to the exam table centered in the middle of the room. They're bustling around him like frenzied ants, hooking him up to monitors, exchanging unintelligible information with each other over his still-wheezing chest, and asking him all kinds of way too personal questions which he's trying but sometimes failing to answer. It all makes her feel like an intruder, an outsider who has no idea what's going on, and she doesn't dare to ask, for fear that they'll make her leave.

So far, Castle's stayed conscious, and that fact makes her at least a little optimistic, giving her something small to cling to in this vast wasteland of uncertainty. His pulse is quick, erratic, but his blood pressure appears good, at least from what she can see on the monitors at the far end of the room.

She's still got on her police vest, never having taken the time to unstrap it from her body. And she's keeping his _Writer _vest cradled tightly to her chest; this wonderful, marvelous piece of equipment that almost certainly saved his life not even an hour ago. She's never been more thankful for his over-the-top, frivolous tendencies, which had led directly to the purchase of this custom-made, Kevlar vest right after they'd started working together. Thank God he has his mother's flair for the dramatic.

If he makes it through this, she might just have to frame this bullet-riddled, torn-up piece of body armor, have him put it out somewhere on display. His loft, the Hamptons, hell, even the precinct.

_For sheer, damn luck._

Oh, he'd love that…

On second thought, though, maybe she doesn't want to be reminded of this day ever again, no matter the outcome.

She shakes that rather ominous thought from her mind and returns her attention to the frenetic activity in the room. Somewhere along the way, they've stripped Castle's torso completely bare, continuing to poke and prod as decisions are discussed, occasionally managing to elicit a painful, involuntary groan or grunt from the man in question. And every single sound he makes, every vocalization of the agony he's enduring, slices her raw.

Kate never knew she could be this sensitive about another person, but it gets to her, cuts her to the very core. Maybe it's because she sees how different he is right now, so different in comparison to how he usually is. Inconvenience and discomfort are things to be utilized in Castle's world, opportunities for his highly-dramatized diva moments. Complaining incessantly about the latest micro-managing rule Gates has instituted for their team, flipping out over another little hint of independence from Alexis, whining worriedly about potential hair loss, or hissing loudly over a paper cut for hours on end. This is the Castle she knows, the Castle she sees on a regular basis.

But right now, he's actually trying to qualm and subdue any verbal manifestations of how painful this really is – from her as well as from the attending medical personnel. Either way, she knows how serious it is that he's _not_ dramatizing this, that's he's not seeking out the attention he normally craves. And whenever he hisses or winces, whenever he can't stop the cries of pain, it causes Beckett's heart to twist agonizingly in her chest, right along with him.

It takes a couple of moments for her to compose herself before she can even brave a direct look at him, and it's not easy what with the vast number of busy ER staff obscuring her view. But when she finally manages to get a glimpse of him, of his body, of his chest, she nearly does a double-take.

She knew what was coming, of course she knew, has been on the receiving end of countless heavy bruising and contusions herself over her years with the force. But the sight of Castle on that examination table – his upper torso rapidly turning almost completely black and blue, splotched randomly with wide, angry purple ringlets which surround the areas of bullet impact against his vest – makes her nauseated. And there, a bit lower down, there's the bullet wound itself, blood still slowly oozing out of it, the doctors still probing around the edges of it, inspecting flesh which she knows to be surprisingly soft and warm and safe, now torn apart by the destructive force of some bastard's back alley handgun.

It all comes rushing at her then – what happened today, what _might_ have happened, what still can. The sight of the man that she doesn't dare to admit that she loves being severely hurt, the wonderfully familiar planes and contours of his body, which she knows by heart, battered beyond recognition – all of it, the stark and unthinkable reality – comes crashing down upon on her.

Tears spring to Kate's eyes, hot and unbidden, and she doesn't even try to deny that she's far beyond saving where this man is concerned.

_God, Castle._

She attempts to listen but fails to comprehend all that's being said back and forth between the doctors and nurses. She hears words she's expecting to hear, like 'severe bruising' and 'skin abrasions.' But she also hears things like 'bruising to internal organs', 'potential rib and bone fractures', and 'deep soft-tissue injuries'. Body cavity penetration is mentioned a lot, too, along with possible myocardial contusion.

That one she knows – it means bruising to the heart. She's lived through that, just barely. The mere thought makes Kate's head spin.

"Okay, let's do an EKG and general blood work, and let's also test for cardiac enzymes," the ER doctor is ordering now. He looks at the other doctor in the room, thesurgeon, whom Kate recognizes immediately thanks to his distinctive scrubs, a silent exchange carried out between the two of them before they actually start talking.

"CT might be more accurate, but X-ray is quicker and he might need surgery right away, even if he's been stable so far," the ER attending observes, the surgeon nodding reluctantly.

"Yes, however…"

They continue discussing Castle's condition, but the majority of what's actually being said gets lost in the heavy medical jargon, too much even for Kate, who's spend her fair share of time in a hospital bed listening to doctors' mumbo jumbo. Yet despite not understanding everything that's being said, she can still pick up a slightly hostile atmosphere between the two men, which is most definitely growing.

Their conversation is turning into a controlled argument now, certain words being exchanged too harshly, and Kate's heart pounds in her chest, because this can't be good, right? The doctors not agreeing? Maybe it's time to say something, maybe it's time to _do_ something, actually help in some way. She takes a half-step forward, but just at that moment, a nurse steps up to her and pulls gently but firmly at her elbow, demanding Kate's attention.

"Detective, I need to ask you to leave now."


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for the delay, I had some personal RL issues. But, I'm back now. Thank you all so much for your wonderful support through reviews and alerts.  
_

* * *

**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Kate wants to object, comes so close to refusing completely and causing a major scene, because this is _Castle_, and she's not going _anywhere._ But the nurse already has her backpedaling, and before she knows it, she's out of the room. "There's a waiting area right this way, Detective," the nurse informs her, hand outstretched towards the left side of the corridor as the doors swing shut behind them. "The doctor will be out to inform you of Mr. Castle's condition as soon as we know anything new."

A sudden, high-pitched squeak pulls Kate's attention to the right, and both women step aside as a portable X-ray machine is wheeled quickly past them, the confident med tech whipping the protesting cart around with practiced ease as he backs his way into the ER and deposits the entire contraption on the left side of the examination table. The doors swing closed behind him, but Kate catches sight of Castle through the window as they do, his wide blue eyes staring, first at the new machine and then back at the doctors and nursing staff, who are already donning their protective gear for the first round of X-rays. The fear and nervousness in Castle's features are clearly evident, even from this distance, and it's all Kate can do not to rush immediately back inside the room.

"Detective?"

Kate glances at the nurse, who is again gesturing towards the waiting area. "If you'll just follow me…"

She takes a deep breath and folds her arms tightly around her body, holding herself together, Castle's vest still hanging from her right hand. "That won't be necessary," she responds as evenly as possible, her shoulders squaring out as she turns back to the window, clearly settling into place. "I'm fine right here."

"Detective, I really don't-"

"I _said_ I'm fine," she repeats in a flat voice, not moving a muscle. From the corner of her eye she can see the nurse struggling with a reply, obviously unsure of what to do or say next. In the end, she merely shrugs, seemingly content to have Kate out of the ER room itself and away from the action. "If you change your mind, the waiting area is down this hallway to the left." The woman touches Kate's shoulder briefly. "They've got decent coffee, if you need it." She squeezes once then leaves Kate standing there alone, her heart irrationally torn anew at the word _coffee,_ silently watching the bustle of activity on the other side of the window.

They've already begun taking the X-rays, and she holds her breath as the machine is angled carefully this way and that around Castle's chest and abdomen. He's studying each move of the device carefully, craning his neck to observe the process even as the nurse keep pushing him down, forcing him not to move. She's relieved at the alertness in his eyes, his writer's curiosity obviously replacing the fear she'd seen there earlier, but she can tell he's still in a great deal of pain, his features pulling into a tight, agonizing grimace every time even the slightest shift in position is required.

It seems like an eternity, but the procedure doesn't actually last very long, and then the machine is being wheeled back out of the room, the efficient med tech giving her a quick nod as he emerges. She nods back then returns her attention to the window, watching anxiously as the attending doctor bends over Castle. He seems calm, talking to her partner quietly before pulling the oxygen mask off of his face for a moment as he waits for an answer, then turns back to the surgeon, exchanging a couple of words. The commotion in the room seems to have lessened considerably, at least compared to how frenzied the place had been when they wheeled Castle in earlier. She tries to take this as a good sign. There are far less people in the room now, a focused yet composed atmosphere dominating the scene.

With Castle clearly much more relaxed, or as relaxed as can be expected, given the circumstances, her thoughts drift back to the rather ungraceful exchange between the attending and the surgeon which she'd been unintentionally privy to before. From what she'd understood – which hadn't been much – they'd been disagreeing on whether to move Castle to surgery right away or to wait for the preliminary exam results to come back before making any major decisions.

The surgeon was ready to take action, citing the fact that although Castle was stable at the moment, they had no assurances that he would remain so. If they didn't go in now, they might not have another opportunity to do so, at least not one as safe as the present. The attending, on the other hand, was erring on the side of caution, unconvinced that surgery was the best option, at least not without all the facts and information beforehand. What was the point of cutting into a currently stable patient without knowing exactly what they were looking for, where it might be, or what damage had actually been done?

Kate can't decide which side she's on, isn't sure she could pick a side even if her life depended on it. She feels bad admitting it, even to herself, but she's so unbelievably thankful that this decision doesn't lie with her, because both doctors seem to have valid points, and she has no idea which choice is the right one. The only thing she can even begin to compare this situation to is that day over a year ago, when the quick thinking and intervention of an on-call surgeon saved _her_ life, an ex-boyfriend who'd decided _not_ to wait, but had cut her open right there on the ER table.

But this is different. Different day, different circumstances, different life. This is Castle, and Kate is eternally grateful for all the competent people around him right now who are going to take responsibility for this moment and make the call. And they said being a cop was hard...

A couple of minutes pass and she can see the surgeon growing more impatient, most of his time spent on the landline in the corner, probably arranging a surgical team for Castle's impending operation. Suddenly a nurse walks swiftly into the room from a side entrance, a sheaf of X-rays clutched in her hands. Both the surgeon and the attending immediately make a grab for them, snatching them out of her grip and pinning them up against the fluorescent glass panels hanging on the wall. They nearly bump heads as they lean in to study them closely, switching their attention quickly between the various frames. It's a challenge between them, it seems, a competition, and all of her appreciative thoughts from a moment before notwithstanding, it makes Kate slightly furious.

She notices Castle looking at the scans as well, eyes thoughtful, as if he can actually understand what he's seeing, so she gives it a try, too, her eyes skimming the black and white images from afar. But, after several frustrating seconds, the only thing which she can be entirely certain of is that, yes: these are indeed actual X-rays of a person's chest, which is 100% _un_helpful, telling her absolutely nothing and sort of pissing her off further.

The doctors bump again as their gazes jump between the images, both of them flicking their eyes more rapidly, exchanging their positions before the screen, obviously looking for something and not finding it, their expressions more frustrated and confused than before the scans arrived. They talk in quiet whispers now, occasionally peering over at Castle as they deliberate.

Kate feels unease spill through her chest as she follows their line of sight, her stomach dropping even further when she sees Castle's eyes go huge, realizing something's wrong. She sees the panic grip him as he lays there, lonely, hurting and surely frightened, and her heart goes out to him, her gaze willing him to look at _her_, not them, willing him to see that he's _not_ alone.

The doctors' discussion continues, both pointing at a specific spot on one of the X-rays which they've pulled from the screen, their worried gestures setting Kate's stomach churning queasily. A nurse comes up behind them and taps the attending on the shoulder somewhat timidly, whispering something in a hushed tone before looking over her shoulder and pointing directly at Kate.

Both doctors turn their heads at the interruption, assessing Kate now, and she doesn't know what this is about, but she takes an involuntary step back as they suddenly start making their way over to the door. She shoots a quick look at Castle, startled to find him staring right at her, something unreadable in his eyes, something important. And then the double doors fly open, and she barely has time to jump back in order to avoid them.

"You the partner?" asks the surgeon sharply and without preamble. Kate feels herself growing defensive at his tone.

"Yes," she answers, eyeing both men warily. "Why?"

"We just need to ask you a couple of questions," the attending assures her in a pleasant tone, obviously attempting to offset the gruffness of his colleague. His voice is calm but the small, tight smile he sends Kate only makes her uneasiness grow.

She can't help but compare this to a typical day at the precinct, because the doctors seem to be pulling the medical equivalent of good cop/bad cop. Not that it matters, because she won't be intimidated by either of them. She squares her shoulders and raises her eyebrows, taking one last look at Castle through the window before silently staring the two men down, clearly inviting them to ask whatever questions they need to ask, but to be damn quick about it.

The attending clears his throat with a hint of unease at her unrelenting gaze. "Um, were you with him when it happened?"

The inquiry catches Kate off guard, although it really shouldn't. It's not an accusation, it's _not_, but still… She gulps, her mouth suddenly dry, her composure gone in the wink of an eye. She manages a small nod, angry at herself for being so out of character, for being unable to hold herself together in her normal, strong and confident manner.

"How many times was your partner shot at and from how far away, approximately?" the surgeon inquires in an impatient tone.

"Um, three," she manages to squeeze past her teeth. "From about five to ten feet. But you already know that."

The doctors exchange a loaded glance, a silent communication passing between them which Kate doesn't like one bit.

"Obviously he was wearing a protective vest," the surgeon says, dropping his eyes pointedly to Kate's own chest before proceeding lower, to the _Writer_ vest still clutched in her hands. "That his?"

She just nods, her hands squeezing the unyielding material even more tightly in her fists.

"We need to look at it," the surgeon says, already extending his hand. He attempts to take the vest from Kate's grasp, but the bold gesture only serves to intensify her grip on it, her posture growing rigid as she pulls it out of his reach.

"Why? What do you need with it?" she bristles, deciding on the spot that she pretty much hates this surgeon, hates his arrogant manners and his cryptic, heavy-handed demands.

"It's the bullet which penetrated his stomach," responds the attending kindly, imperceptibly inching his colleague back and out of the way, obviously inferring that this situation has the potential to grow very precarious very quickly. "There's a problem." His words finally catch Kate's attention.

"What kind of problem?" she demands, heart already pounding away painfully in her chest.

"We can't find it," he states and Kate's eyes go huge.

"_What_?! You can't find it? What do you mean? How? That's not even possible."

"Right, which is why we need the vest," explains the attending. "We need to count the bullets."

"But there's a _hole_ in his _stomach_," Kate argues. "From the _bullet_. It's inside him! I watched him get shot!" Her voice wavers, the memory causing an involuntary shudder to run down her spine.

The attending looks at her sympathetically, which only serves to piss her off further. There are cops getting shot _daily_ on the streets of New York, brought into this very ER, and yet somehow, Kate is convinced that the doctors who treat those other cops don't give their waiting partners such pitiful looks. So why her? Is it because she's a woman? Or because she looks so damn guilty?

Because she does look guilty, she _feels _guilty, but that should be normal, shouldn't it? Most of the cops who come in here accompanying their wounded partners must look just like her – guilty, worried, afraid. Because that's what partners are supposed to do, right? Protect each other. And then one of them gets hurt, and emotions run high. Don't things like survivor's guilt, or feelings of failure, of letting your partner down, occur in these kinds of situations all the time?

So then why, _why_ the hell is the attending looking at her like this, with such an intense mixture of pity and compassion infusing his face? Does he see? Her heart falters and she darts a quick, mortified look at Castle through the window, biting her lip, suddenly afraid to meet the doctor's eyes again. Does he _know_?

Kate forces down the lump in her throat, blinking away the sudden sting of tears. She extends her hand in a sudden, almost violent movement, nearly hurling Castle's vest into the attending's chest. She watches with wicked satisfaction as the pity leaves his face abruptly, his arms slumping down under the surprising weight of the Kevlar, his mouth letting out a surprised '_Ooomph_'.

"Here," she growls. "But it's evidence, so be careful with it. Also, I'm pretty sure he's going to want to keep the bullets. As…souvenirs." She takes a deep breath to mask the way her voice stumbled on that last word, her eyes shifting away from the doctor and back to Castle. God, he's still just staring at her. He looks so alone, so small in that room, and she needs to be _with_ him. Nothing else matters.

"Can I…" She swings her gaze back to the attending, all of her aggression gone in an instant, exhaustion taking its place. "Can I go back in?"

He shakes his head, sympathy once again infusing his features. "Not yet, we may need to do another couple of X-rays soon. I'm sorry."

She feels her eyes, her nose and her throat swelling up with suppressed tears, the frustration of this whole damn day finally catching up with her. She just wants to be with Castle, wants to know he's okay, and she can't be. She can't. And suddenly she needs to get away from here as quickly as possible, away from the doctors, with their dumb, meaningful looks, away from Castle, so close and yet so utterly unreachable, and away from herself, and her blatant, infuriating inability to get a grip on her own _stupid_ emotions.

"Then excuse me," she manages to rasp out in a curt tone, "but I'll need to track down some of my other colleagues now." She turns and walks hurriedly away, and only once she's at a safe distance does she allow her face to finally fall, her features contorting in grief.

* * *

She ducks into the nearest bathroom she can find, nearly doubling over as she sags against the sink, her shaky fingers gripping the sides of the old, chipped ceramic basin as she struggles not to cry. She shifts slightly, flipping on the water and twisting it all the way to cold before slashing the icy liquid over her face over and over and over again. After a couple of moments, she stops, stares silently at her own reflection instead. Her nose and chin are dripping with water as Kate attempts to see what the attending saw when he was looking at her earlier.

What _is_ there to see? A guilty cop? A concerned friend? Or did he recognize her for what she truly is: a terrified lover?

She takes huge gulps of air, trying to breathe through the assault of anger and helplessness flooding her mind. She doesn't understand this, doesn't understand the state she's in, or the cracks and tears in her armor, the devastating damage today's events have wrought on her oh-so-tough exterior.

_Because he's okay, Castle will be okay._

Yes, it was a close call, but from what she can tell, for a point-blank shooting, it honestly couldn't have gone better. He wore his vest, he was conscious after, he's in the hospital now, currently stable and ready to be moved into surgery in the event that he needs one. It could have all been so, _so_ much worse than this. So why is she breaking down into millions of tiny, brittle pieces in a stupid, public bathroom?

Because it's the prospect of what _might_ have happened today, what he – what _they_ – so narrowly escaped, that seems to have rattled her to the very core. Even daring to _start_ to think of it reduces her to almost nothing.

But this is _not_ her, because Kate Beckett doesn't act like this, it's just _not_ normal.

_So no more of this__._

She focuses on her breathing first, willing herself to keep it slow, deep and rhythmic rather than shallow and thready. It takes a minute, but she finally gets her lungs under control – steady inhalations followed by calm exhalations – and with that comes control over the panic, over the unrelenting shakes and the internal jitteriness. She slowly but firmly forces her body once again under her command, one piece at a time, and only once it's done does she allow herself to look away from her own reflection.

She reaches back into the running water, splashing a bit more on her face before twisting off the tap and grabbing a couple of paper towels. She takes a little longer than necessary to dry her skin, desperately seeking just one more moment of refuge behind tightly closed lids, but at last she throws the damp paper into the bin beside her, returning her gaze to the mirror for one final inspection.

Her features are in check again, the planes of her face calm and collected, ready to once more face the world, ready to walk out of this bathroom not as Kate, but as Detective Beckett.

At least on the outside.


	5. Chapter 5

**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

She doesn't go looking for Ryan or Esposito, although she probably should. She's not ready for that yet, not ready for the concern in their eyes, or the information they're sure to have for her by now regarding the shooter. And she has absolutely _no_ desire to see how _that_ bastard is doing, the man who shot Castle, even now being patched up somewhere in this very hospital, so very close to the man whose life he nearly took. Just the mere thought of him sets her blood boiling. Ryan and Esposito have this, she knows that, and she's sure they won't let the asshole from their sight. She'll find them later, she will – get an update on the case, let them know how Castle is doing. But she can't do it now, not yet, not when she feels like her whole skin is aflame, grazed raw and bloody by some invisible layer of sandpaper, not when she's just barely holding it together. No, Espo and Ryan can wait. There's somewhere else she needs to be.

Back with Castle.

She wasn't gone for more than fifteen minutes, but the instant she rounds the corner to the trauma room, it's obvious that something must have changed, and changed for the better. The chaos and tension so noticeable in the air less than half an hour ago is no longer present, a level of optimistic calmness having taken its place. Nurses are leisurely unhooking and readjusting a number of the machines surrounding Castle as the now-familiar attending leans against the edge of the bed, holding one of the X-rays in front of his patient's line of vision and explaining something in the picture.

Castle is nodding, both enthusiasm as well as weariness mixing his features. The surgeon is nowhere to be seen and Kate's wondering whether that's a good sign or not when the attending catches sight of her through the glass pane of the door. Uttering something to Castle, he waits for a moment and then, at Castle's affirming nod, he looks up again and waves encouragingly for her to step inside.

Letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Kate pushes the doors open and slowly walks towards the bed, carefully pasting on a polite yet detached smile for the sake of the attending, still cautious about revealing too much. Good thing she does, too, because the radiant grin beaming from Castle's face at the mere sight of her would probably steal her breath away otherwise. But with the doctor present, she doesn't know what to do with it, not here, not when she's just put her professional mask so carefully back together. So she turns her attention to the attending instead.

"How's it look? Will he live?" she deadpans, going for a light tone, although the words taste sour in her mouth.

"Actually, I've got good news. It appears that Mr. Castle's injuries might be less severe than we originally thought," the man responds, and something heavy eases off Kate's chest. A nurse busies herself at Castle's side and Kate's eyes fall to the wound in his stomach just in time to see the angry red flesh, now stitched back together, being covered with a thick pad of gauze. The nurse finishes patching Castle up in silence, then hastily leaves the room for the adjoining one, where a new patient's just been wheeled in, already surrounded by bustling medical staff. There's only Kate, Castle and the doctor left in their area now, the room unusually quiet despite the heavy commotion just next door.

The doctor resumes his explanation only once the door closes, bathing them all in muted silence. "For now, there appears to be no need for an operation," he says, switching his gaze between Castle and Beckett.

Another heavy breath escapes Kate's lungs. "Why not? What about the bullet that went through his vest?"

Her fingers grope at the side of the bed, searching for something to hold onto. They come to rest on the railing, squeezing the metal so tightly that her knuckles turn white, but it's not enough. Her right hand continues forward, stopping just a couple of inches above Castle's, which is resting on the mattress. She's itching to take it, _needs_ to, yet she doesn't. She can feel the sudden tension humming in the air, although she's fairly sure the doctor can't, which she's grateful for. She senses Castle's fingers twitching beneath her own, and her eyes meet his briefly before she drops her gaze. He wants to touch her, wants to hold her hand, connect them somehow, she can tell. But he doesn't, and she doesn't either, despite the fact that she yearns to, despite the fact that it's so, _so_ tempting.

Once again, he appears to be respecting her stipulations, acknowledging the fact that they are apparently still keeping their relationship a secret, still playing her stupid game of hide and seek with the outside world. And suddenly, that's exactly how it seems to Kate: completely _stupid,_ an absurd charade. There's just no way that anyone would believe that there _wasn't_ something more than a professional relationship – or even just a regular friendship – going on between the two of them. She's abruptly sick of her own rules, wants nothing more than to take his hand, or kiss him – his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. She wants to take care of him, take him home, curl up with him in bed and put this whole day behind them, and never mind all of the people who might have a problem with it.

But she _does,_ damn her, she _does_ mind. And so she doesn't take his hand, shifting hers back to the railing, and she doesn't kiss him, even when she knows it could make the world feel so much better if she did, for both of them. Instead she looks back over at the attending expectantly, who in return looks to Castle, silently asking for his approval to continue, which he receives immediately.

"As I was just explaining to Mr. Castle here," he says, moving the X-ray so that Kate can see as well, "we couldn't find the bullet in the scans because it wasn't there. It seems the bullet was stopped by the vest after all – we found it lodged in the inner-most layer of Kevlar."

"How?" breathes Kate, now intrigued, shooting a quick, curious look at Castle. A small, self-satisfied smile dances over his lips, obvious even beneath his oxygen mask, and she swears she can almost see the writer's wheels in his brain spinning away energetically as he tries to figure out a way to incorporate this freak accident into his next book.

The attending clears his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "What we have here," he explains, directing his hand towards a particular area on the X-ray that's a little paler than the rest, "is a so-called BABT injury, which stands for 'behind-armor blunt trauma'. It's a rather rare occurrence, which is what led to the back-face deformity injury in Mr. Castle's abdomen."

At Kate's perplexed look, he lowers the X-ray to Castle's bed, gesticulating for better understanding. "The backface deformity injury over the abdomen produces what appears, on the surface, to be a gunshot wound." One of the doctor's hands comes to represent the vest, the other the bullet's trajectory. "When the bullet strikes but does not perforate the vest, the vest itself sometimes ends up penetrating the soft tissue, the force of the bullet pushing it, the Kevlar, and the clothing inward. And when the vest is removed, the Kevlar and the bullet come back out, leaving an injury which closely resembles that of a bullet wound."

Kate let's out a low sigh as the doctor finishes his depiction of the event. So _that_ must have been the resistance she felt when she removed Castle's vest from him earlier. She looks down at him, both relief and the remains of worry making her eyes grow tender. He just smiles back, perfect understanding passing between the two of them in that split second, and suddenly Kate can't stand not to touch him anymore, laying one hand lightly over his shoulder as the other seeks out his waiting fingers and entwines there.

"Plucky sidekick," he rasps with a boyish smirk and despite herself, Kate can't help grinning.

"More of a _lucky_ sidekick, to be honest," interrupts the doctor, whose name, Kate is now a little ashamed to realize, she hasn't even bothered to learn. "There have been cases like this in the past when – in spite of not finding the bullet in X-rays, or sometimes even after a negative CT scan – the doctors couldn't figure out what was going on, and subsequently subjected patients to completely unnecessary exploratory surgeries."

So that must have been what the argument was about earlier. Kate is suddenly extremely grateful that the attending managed to talk the surgeon into waiting for the scans.

Castle raises his hand tiredly, pulling at his mask until it's off his mouth far enough to really speak, his mind obviously running along the same lines as her own. "If it's so rare, how come you knew?" It's certainly a valid question.

"I've seen a similar case in the past, back when I was still in school making my rotations," the doctor admits. He smiles at them and Kate is surprised to finds herself smiling back.

"So he's going to be just fine," she reaffirms hopefully, momentarily lost in her optimism, at least until Castle's cough catches her attention again, the wheezing sounds rattling his whole body as he struggles for air. The doctor pulls the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth with a pointed look before proceeding to explain further.

"Well, he will be in time, but not quite yet. For now, we're sending Mr. Castle for a CT scan of his chest – it'll be more helpful than the preliminary X-rays, and we'll be able to check on the possibility of smaller amounts of free air or blood near the wound, as well as bruises to the lung tissue, just to be sure. If the CT shows nothing abnormal, we'll be moving him to an in-patient room to monitor his condition, and we'll definitely be keeping him overnight. But if all goes well, he should be fit for discharge sometime tomorrow, probably late afternoon."

Castle lifts his free hand up for a clear attempt at a victorious fist bump, but Kate doesn't bite, concern still shining in her eyes as she looks over the myriad black and purple bruises now covering the majority of her partner's torso. Castle's arm falls back down to the mattress heavily, causing him to wince in pain. He tries to pout playfully at her for not engaging, but his face can't manage anything except a grimace.

She sighs, unable to stand her self-imposed distance any longer, because holding his hand just isn't enough. She gives in at last, bending over his shaking body to press a soft, lingering kiss against his temple, her fingers running soothingly through his hair. Her face is still tucked against his cheek when the doctor clears his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to him. She's momentarily pissed at him for ruining the moment, can't help the defiant look she shoots his direction, purposefully leaving her fingers where they are in Castle's hair, feeling slightly possessive.

Yes, Castle's her partner. In more ways than one. So what?

She adopts one of her trademark stares, seemingly waiting for the doctor's next words, but really just daring him to comment. He averts his eyes under the fierce scrutiny of her gaze, shifting in place uncomfortably, and she flicks her eyes back to Castle's, a small covert grin now tugging at her lips. She sends him a conspiratorial wink, and his responding smile makes it all worthwhile.

The doctor gives another small cough, clearing his throat. "The nurse should be along shortly to take you up for your CT," he says, addressing Castle and intentionally ignoring Kate. "Then we'll get you settled into your room."

He raises his eyebrows as a sudden commotion outside the glass-paned door draws all of their attention towards the hallway. They watch as two or three gurneys are rushed past, all laden with heavily bleeding patients. The doctor is in motion before the carts even roll out of sight, backing hurriedly towards the door. "I'm afraid I need to go," he says apologetically. "But if anything changes, press that button to call for a nurse." he points to a large, red control hanging by a cord near the bed. He shoots Castle a small smile as his shoulders hit the doors. "You were really lucky tonight, Mr. Castle."

"Thanks, Doc," Castle calls out, a bit more strength in his voice this time as he shifts his oxygen mask. "I owe you big."

The doctor's grin broadens at that before he shifts his gaze to Kate, and then his smile seems to shrink a bit. "Detective," he nods at her curtly, timidly even, before quickly disappearing out the door.

And then it's just the two of them.


	6. Chapter 6

_So sorry I haven't been able to reply to all of your wonderful reviews, but well, Christmas time is pretty time consuming.:) Still, I am reading all of them and plan to answer all of them as soon as possible. Keep them coming, you wonderful, sweet people._**  
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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 6**

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The sounds of beeping monitors and machines resonate loudly in the empty trauma room as they look at each other. This is the first chance that Castle's had to be with Kate – _really_ be with her – since he was shot. The all-encompassing fear, the terror that he might not even make it, that it might all be over, is finally ebbing, and now his head is clear, his thoughts and perceptions more alert to everything else around him.

The instant the doctor's out of the room, Castle's pulling the mask down and off his grinning face again, batting her hand away as she tries to wrestle it back over his nose and mouth. She scowls at him but he doesn't back down, their battle silent as each holds the other's intensive gaze. And then he sees something inside her eyes break a little, give in to him, her hardened mask slipping away as _his _Kate makes an appearance once again, her hand finding its way back into his hair.

He's still smiling at her, but silence is stretching between them now, heavy and somewhat dark. He wants to break it, wants to sweep it away with humor or irony, or even something deep and serious, but he's just not sure which one to go for, or how to start. He stares at her, his mind working furiously on a course of action as she keeps on caressing her fingers through his soft locks, over and over again, in that way he absolutely loves, her pensive eyes observing him wordlessly. He must look terrible – tired, beaten, washed out. Actually, he doesn't just _look_ but also _is_ all of those things, what with barely escaping certain death only a couple of hours ago and all. Not that he's going to tell her that…

"You okay?" she asks, being the first to break the oppressive silence at last, her voice ever so gentle. As if she can sense the struggle in his thoughts.

He tries to shrug, an automatic response to her inquiry, but the gesture only makes him wince sharply at the pain. Squeezing his teeth in frustration, he averts his eyes, studying the nearby exam table instead, where he catches sight of his _Writer _vest, just lying there. It's pitifully torn and disemboweled, the obvious – and thankfully only – casualty of today's events. The three extracted bullets are resting neatly in a small glass dish right next to it.

"I'm _so_ gonna return that thing first thing in the morning. It is definitely _not_ a bulletproof vest," he wheezes out, trying a little too hard to lighten the mood.

He's successful though, because she chuckles, and the sound of it loosens something within him, reassuring and comforting all at once. But then her eyes follow his to the table, to the dark, shredded fabric, and the sight of it seems to sober her up again quickly, her features once again clouding over.

"That vest's not going anywhere, Rick. It saved your life."

The usage of his first name in combination with the plaintive, teary quality of her voice, manages to catch him off guard, and his head falls back down, bouncing against the mattress. No pillow.

He's not a fool. He knows what was at stake today. He sighs, averting his eyes from hers, from the burning, somber intensity of her gaze. He can't play it down, not with her, not even with himself. He's still shaken when he thinks about it, can still feel the enormous blunt force of the shots hitting him square in the chest, sending his bulky frame flying like a rag doll in a storm. He's in no state to deceive anybody, least of all himself.

His whole chest is aflame. The line of stitches holding the hole in his stomach together is pulling against his side in an extremely uncomfortable fashion, and he's also the proud owner of a pair of bruised, useless lungs, which constrict painfully whenever he tries to draw a proper breath, never expanding as fully as he's used to. Maybe if they did, he wouldn't be experiencing something akin to an eagle clawing at his chest with each and every inhalation.

On the whole, Castle feels all kinds of miserable. But he still tries to go for the comedian's approach, tries to grin at the beautiful, worried woman beside him, even if all he really wants to do is curl into a tight ball under the covers and bawl his eyes out in a fit of self-pity, like the forty-something-year-old crybaby he is.

"Hey, at least the doc said I can keep the bullets." He grins cheekily, refusing to allow his weariness to show, the effort costing him greatly. "They'll make for a pretty cool souvenir, three little lucky charms. I was thinking something along the lines of having them embedded into a bracelet…no, that would be unmanly…hey, what about framing them? For my study. Wouldn't that be _awesome_?"

He looks at her again with that childish zeal of his, momentarily lost in his own thoughts, lost in the possibility of being able to view this event as nothing more than a good, adventurous story someday in the future, a grand and harrowing tale to impress his writer buddies with over a game of poker.

"Sorry to burst your bubble Castle, but you can't have the bullets. They're a part of the evidence now," Kate responds curtly, but there's a spark of playfulness shining in her eyes as she smiles down at him.

He feigns mock disappointment, letting his face fall at her words, his bottom lip curving in a childish pout.

"So unfair," he mutters sullenly, clearly laying the bait for one of her infamous, quick-witted comebacks. She doesn't bite, though, her hand still drawing rhythmic circles in his hair, the movement of her fingers familiar and intimate. She hums at him, her eyes growing slightly distant as she regards him, a contemplative expression settling over her face.

"Listen, Kate," he starts in a more serious tone, suddenly wanting to say so much, tell her all that's been on his mind and heart that he hasn't found the courage to voice to her yet. He pauses to pick the right words and she uses his hesitation, beats him to it.

"Later, Castle," she murmurs, her fingers in his hair spasming slightly, pulling into a fist. His gaze drops, face twisting into something like worry, and she uses her grip to slowly turn him back in her direction, bending down to him then and capturing his lips in a soft, reassuring kiss.

"We'll talk later," she promises, her fingers resuming their gentle ministrations as her other hand comes up to place the oxygen mask back over his face before settling against his cheek. "You just rest for now, okay?"

He regards her, still slightly dazed from the kiss, gives her a little nod.

Okay. He can do later, they can talk later. The weariness finally starts to catch up with him, his eyes drooping despite his attempts to keep them open. Yet her caresses feel so good, so warm…

He's on the verge of finally falling asleep when the door behind Kate suddenly bursts open, snapping his eyelids up, a painful, surprised breath caught in his chest. He can hear the sound of two pairs of hurrying feet, and then two voices ring simultaneously throughout the deserted exam room.

"Oh, Richard!"

"Dad!"

Despite the enormous tiredness pressing down upon him, Castle clutches at his last reserves of energy, bracing himself for the impact of his family's concern. He puts on a big, fat smile peppered with false bravado, all for the sheer benefit of his daughter and his mother. He can feel Kate's hand squeeze his in support as he lets out a shaky breath, and then they're all right there beside him.

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_Still reading you people, I hope.:) I know I am going too slow, but well..what can I say? This is that kind of story. More to come soon though, we are already 2/3 done._


	7. Chapter 7

**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 7**

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Kate calls Espo shortly after they wheel Castle out for his CT. She's still worried, still brittle and fragile and feeling like she might come undone at the slightest provocation, but he's okay, he really is, and having even that brief moment with him alone before his family arrived was enough, at least for the time being. If she's honest with herself, she would have liked to stay longer, but she really needs to do her job now, can't put it off any longer. The boys and the case are waiting, and besides, Martha and Alexis are with Castle, and nothing in the world could tear those two away from him, so he's good for the moment.

And she's already spent too much time looking after her partner as it is, more than what would normally be considered an appropriate amount. She knows the boys will understand so she doesn't worry about it too much, though. She and Castle may have been successful in keeping their relationship a secret as of yet, but Kate doesn't even try to kid herself into thinking that Ryan and Esposito don't know that there's been something more than a professional relationship going on between them for years.

From her quick chat with Espo, Beckett knows the boys have arranged for their perp to be moved into a more secluded area of the hospital three levels up, just in case their guy feels the urge to try and pull another one of his escape attempts on them. Not that he could run too far on that broken leg, but he _is_ still considered a dangerous individual and a flight risk, especially after what he pulled when he opened his apartment door. A feeling of deep satisfaction and appreciation spreads through Kate's chest, knowing that the main reason why the guys are being so very careful with handling this particular suspect is because it was _Castle_ in the line of fire.

She steps into the elevator, which is already half full, and presses the button for the third floor. She gets a couple of funny looks from the people standing closest to her, and she subconsciously catalogues how she must appear to them.

Her hair is disheveled, her skin sallow, and her eyeliner and mascara are smeared all over her face, despite her attempts to clean up as best as she could earlier. At least she finally had the sense to open the straps of her vest and pull the heavy piece of armor off over her head; it's grasped in her fingers now, hanging limply at her side because there simply hasn't been an opportunity to find a safe place to deposit it somewhere else yet.

The large elevator proceeds slowly as it stops at each floor, sick people stepping in and out. There's a kid with a broken ankle on crutches weaving his way through the crowd, and an older woman in a chair being wheeled in by a member of the hospital staff. The elevator reeks of bleach, the distinctive smell of hospital disinfectant in the air, and it makes Kate slightly nauseous. She hides out in the far corner of the lift, her back firmly pressed against the wall, tired and washed out. She rests her head on the cool steel panel, closes her eyes for the shortest of moments, trying hard to chase away the images now returning to her full force, the memory of Castle being shot playing in her mind on a loop over and over again.

She takes a deep steadying breath, bracing herself as she stands to her full height once the elevator finally stops at her designated floor. As she walks off the lift and down the corridor, Kate spots the sign for a public restroom and darts into it in order to freshen up. Using some tissues and water from the sink, she wipes down the remains of her smudged make-up and runs her fingers through her messy hair. She takes a couple more steadying breaths and by the time she steps back out into the hall and reaches the room Espo's given her directions for, she's in full professional mode again.

The boys are all over her the moment she steps inside, pressing her for information on Castle. She updates them quickly, describing as best as she can what the doctor explained to her. The boys let out matching breaths of elation, Javier even fist-pumping the air, and with a pang of guilt, Kate realizes she hasn't really given the two of them much thought up until now, even though she knows that Castle is truly like a brother to them.

Her gaze trails towards the back of the room, where a doctor has just finished putting a plaster cast over the shooter's right leg. She frowns, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"That him?" she asks, her voice cold and steely.

He's just a kid, probably in his early twenties, with a sinewy, unhealthy look ghosted across his features. His hair is cropped close to his head, and he has piercings all over his face, along with a vast array of tattoos covering his neck and running down both arms. He's also sporting a wicked black eye, Kate notes with surprisingly vicious satisfaction, and his nose is bandaged as well, obviously broken, the skin swollen and purple beneath. His gaze darts about the room uneasily, and there's a nervous twitch in his hands, one of which is tightly cuffed to the railing of the bed he's sitting on.

"Yeah, Mark Evans," supplies Ryan, consulting his notes. "And as it turns out, Mark here has absolutely no idea who our victim even is."

Kate gives him a surprised look. "Why the hell did he start _shooting_ then?"

"Apparently," Ryan continues while Esposito gives Mark the stink eye, "our boy has his own little personal meth lab set up in his apartment. So when he heard police at his door, he – and I quote – '_panicked'_. Naturally, he decided that the best course of action would be to shoot at whoever was behind the door and try to escape through the window and then down the fire escape."

_Son of a bitch._

Kate can feel her temper flaring, frustration washing over her in waves. She can't believe this is all happened just because a freaking meth-head mistook Castle for a cop who was trying to bust him for possession. Damn it! This is _exactly_ why she's always telling him not to announce himself as police!

She has to bite the inside of her cheek so she doesn't let out her overwhelming rage at the stupidity of it all. If the dickhead had just opened his damn door to find out what their visit had been about, none of this would have even _happened!_

The kid's just sitting there now, like nothing transpired, like he didn't just try to take a man's life a few hours ago, a _good_ man; a father, a son. A lover.

"Well, let's see how far he gets trying to escape Sing Sing," she deadpans, the malicious spite dripping from her words obviously catching Ryan off-guard. At his concerned look, she manages to pull the brake on her raging emotions, quickly gulping down her anger. "Let's wait till the doc's finished here and then we'll take him back to the 12th," she adds more moderately.

"Wait, what?" asks Espo confusedly. "You're not staying here with Castle?"

She averts her eyes, fidgets in place a little. "No. His family is with him now, and there's not much I can do here anyway. They're keeping him overnight for observation, just in case." Ryan gives her a disbelieving look that makes her a bit self-conscious. "Don't worry, guys," she assures them. "They'll call if anything changes, and besides, I'm beat. We all are."

She shoots another sharp look at their perp, her eyes hardening. "Let's just get him back to the station and get the paperwork done. I wanna go home."

Although she doesn't, not really. In fact, the thought of her sprawling, empty apartment nearly makes her stumble, her mind flinching at the image of it. Normally she can't wait to get there, can't wait to retreat from the world into her own, personal refuge, uncoiling slowly, relaxing, winding down. But now…now she can't imagine being alone.

But she _does_ want to be done with this day, as quickly as possible.

She turns abruptly towards the door. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

_Special thanks to Nik, my sweet beta, for editing this for me even during the time-consuming Christmas/New Years time and despite being sick. Love you, hon!_

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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 8**

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She doesn't see Castle again until late in the evening the next day.

She'd called the night before to check up on him with the doctor, glad to hear everything looked alright, no unpleasant surprises or complications in the form of delayed injuries. Still, she wants to see for herself, see him in person.

She has trouble getting through the night, lying alone in her empty bed. It feels so strange, being there without him. She hadn't even realized how used to spending most of her nights with Castle she is, at either his place or hers, at least not until she'd crawled into her vast, vacant bed alone that night.

It makes her feel even more miserable, this dependency he slowly, secretly seems to have nurtured in her. She was never that type of individual, with anybody, was always the person to enjoy and relish her solitude. Well, Rick Castle seems to have destroyed that for her almost effortlessly.

She tosses and turns until morning.

She goes into work the next day after a sleepless night. It's Ryan who brings her a cup of coffee first thing in the morning, which only underlines how very wrong this all is. She doesn't say a word about it, though, simply graces Ryan with a grateful smile instead. She drinks the coffee because she really needs the boost, but it's not the same. She misses the sentiment behind it. Another thing ruined.

_Damn you, Castle!_

She nearly rolls her eyes at herself. What a horrible sap she's become.

Alexis calls her around noon to let her know Castle's being discharged in a couple of hours – '_already cranky as hell'_ his daughter adds in a frustrated huff – and Kate can't help but release a bark of laughter into the phone. He's been asking for her, has even demanded her presence at the loft for dinner later that night, Alexis tells her, and Kate's smile grows, warmth spreading through her chest as something tightly wound unclenches. She accepts the invitation at once.

And she even manages to escape the precinct at a decent hour, her evening plans propelling her to work on their current case even more vigorously than normal. They catch a break around four p.m. and have their suspect in the box by six. Kate breaks him in less than thirty minutes. Must be a new record. She's pulling on her coat by seven, having already decided that the paperwork can wait until the next day for once.

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It's Alexis who opens the door, letting Kate into the loft with a shy smile and offering to take the older woman's coat. The two of them have come to a mutual understanding and respect over the past couple of months, sort of a tentative friendship even. Alexis has been one of their most entrusted secret keepers, has had their back from the start, making Kate feel welcome in the loft and in the Castle family as a whole. The girl will never know how much it's meant to Kate, both then and now.

She hands Alexis her coat with a thankful smile before turning towards the living room, her eyes quickly scanning the open space. She doesn't know what she expected when she'd accepted his dinner invitation, but it certainly wasn't this. He's sound asleep on the couch, lying on his back and covered to the chin with a thin, threadbare blanket. The TV's on but the screen's blue, the DVD obviously having finished playing awhile ago. There's a pack of Advil and a glass of juice on the table at his side, along with his cell phone.

He'd texted her a couple of hours ago, writing to say he was looking forward to seeing her and promising a glass of his best red wine if she made it at a decent hour. It was that last text which had been the encouragement she'd needed to break their suspect in record time. And now here she is – standing in his hall, rooted to the spot, her eyes glued to his still frame, suddenly extremely nervous.

Alexis gives her a slight push in the back. "Go on, Kate. Go say hi." She can hear the amusement in the redhead's voice. It doesn't help her anxiety.

"He's asleep," she whispers back. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"Yeah," Alexis sighs. "He's basically been asleep ever since we got home. I guess the drive wore him out, although he kept insisting he was fine, just a bit sore. Grams and I forced him to lie down and pushed some Advil down his throat, and then I put _Game of Thrones_ on. He was out cold in a matter of minutes. Hasn't woken up since."

There's a twinge of uneasiness in Alexis' voice that Kate hates to hear, but before she can say anything, the girl continues. "You can go wake him up now, though. We'll have dinner soon anyway." She smiles reassuringly at Kate, her sweetness touching, and in a moment of weakness, Kate catches Alexis' arm as she turns back towards the kitchen, speaking even before the girl's blue eyes meet her own.

"I'm sorry." She hates the slight tremble in her voice, but she doesn't stop. "I'm sorry I didn't protect your dad from getting hurt, Alexis."

Her words obviously catch the redhead off-guard. Her face is momentarily blank, eyes puzzled, before comprehension hits. And then her features suddenly grow tender, and _damn_, Kate realizes with horror that Alexis' eyes are filling with tears. To complete the awkward scene, the girl pulls Kate into a tight embrace, consoling _her_ instead of the other way around. Kate forces herself to pull it together fast, pushing her unbidden tears away and disentangling herself from Alexis' arms after only a short while.

"Thank you," Kate murmurs, for the hug as well as for the fact that Alexis isn't holding what happened to Castle against her when she so easily could. She really is the most marvelous girl. Castle has every reason in the world to be proud of her.

"Go wake him," Alexis tells her with another push, the small, knowing grin which dances upon her freckled face making Kate blush right down to her toes. "I'll go get Grams for dinner. She's upstairs."

Kate nods, and, with a small smile now gracing her own lips, makes her way towards the living room. She crouches down at the end of the dark leather couch, her face close to his, enjoying the peaceful way he looks while asleep. She brings her hand up, runs her fingers gently through his hair.

"Castle," she whispers quietly, unwilling to startle him. "Castle," she calls again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Time to wake up."

He stirs, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids, but he still doesn't open them. Kate smiles to herself, feathering a second kiss upon his cheek then another to the corner of his eye, her lips hovering over his brow.

Her grin widens, a wicked idea popping into her mind.

"Castle. Oh C_aaa_stle," she moans in a sultry, throaty voice. "I'm here, all hot and bothered and naked…" Her tone drips with lust as her fingers stroke sensually through his hair. "Right here, while you're sleeping…"

His eyes snap open at once and she can't help smirking. _Such an easy mark. _It takes him a moment to focus, but as he does, a brilliant smile graces his lips.

"Hey," he rasps. His voice is hoarse – his throat must be dry – but the enthusiasm in his tone is undisputable and it fills her chest with warmth.

"Hey," she replies, her voice once again normal, hands caressing his cheeks as she presses another kiss to his mouth.

"I just had the most marvelous dream about you," he murmurs, his eyes shining with amazement. "I had you all hot and bothered for me. And _naked_," he adds, obviously still mesmerized by the vision, and it takes all of Kate's might to suppress a chuckle.

"Really?" she inquires with a playfully raised eyebrow, watching the wistful look slowly dissipate from his face as his awareness grows.

"Yeah," he replies, a slow frown settling over his features at the realization that it was just a dream. He looks so sweet, so adorable with his hair all tousled and his bottom lip drawn into a small, disappointed pout, and she's a goner, obviously, because she finds this _cute_. Before she knows what she's doing she's leaning close and bestowing yet another soft, lingering kiss upon his lips.

He sighs, leaning closer, wanting more, and she obliges, but then there are footsteps on the stairs and she disentangles quickly, smirking at the sight of his pout as it deepens. _Later_, she mouths, taking pity on him. His pout disappears at that, and he beams up at her.

"Dinner's ready," calls Alexis from the bottom of the staircase, "but Grams and I decided that we're all gonna eat in the living room tonight, so Dad can rest and we can watch a movie, if that's okay with you guys."

Kate can see a protest already forming on Castle's lips but she beats him to a response. "That sounds wonderful, Alexis."

He narrows his eyes at her. She returns the glare, if only half-heartedly, trying to hide the tug of a smile.

"Need any help in the kitchen?" she offers back to Alexis while Castle slowly pulls himself up into a sitting position.

"No, I'm good," Alexis calls back and Kate's gaze returns to Castle. The blanket has slipped further down his body as he's pushed himself up on the couch and only now does she realize that he's not wearing a shirt.

One by one, the dark, angry bruises make an appearance, a mocking reminder of everything that happened and _could_ have happened just the day before. Her face falls at the sight of his abused skin, the blood visibly clotted just beneath the surface. She wants to look away, anywhere but at his battered chest, but she can't. He notices her staring and brings his hands up to cover his torso self-consciously.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "Maneuvering into a shirt seemed like an impossible task to accomplish."

He's uncomfortable, squirming under her gaze. He apologizes again, but there's nothing he needs to apologize for, surely not to Kate. She surges forward, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth, careful not to place any pressure on his chest.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she whispers against his lips, her hands at his cheeks, holding him close.

He smiles at her then, his eyes sparkling with that gorgeous, boyish expression upon his face which makes him look ten times younger.

"Me too," he replies softly, stealing another light kiss as he holds her gaze, waiting a beat to say; "But what's for dinner? I'm starving," he grumbles in mock complaint, all the while stealing another light kiss from Kate, whose lips stretch into a wide smile at his words. _Always such a child._

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_A/N - We are slowly closing in on the end, only one or two more chapters left. I hope you liked this one; finally some quiet and piece between Caslte and Beckett...quite before the storm? ;) _

_Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: So this is it, the last chapter. It's a rather lenghty one and I hope you'll find it satisfactory.:) Thank you so much for all your alerts, faves and comments, they really keep me going, turning the writing into an even bigger pleasure. **  
**_

_A huge thanks goes, as always to my beta Nik47, the best beta out there. Girl, you really rock!  
_

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**RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**

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**Chapter 9**

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She stands in the corridor in front of his familiar door, undecided and nervous. Her hands rest on either side of the frame, supporting her, fingers curled into loose fists. She doesn't knock or ring the buzzer, just stands there, attempting to brace herself for the uncomfortable conversation about to occur.

It's been over three weeks since the shooting, three weeks since he was released from the hospital, and she's been over at his place nearly every night since, spending more time at the loft than the previous four years combined.

And it's been a good month, filled with lively conversation and laughter, late-night dinners and stolen kisses, often followed by amused, pointed looks from either his mother or his daughter whenever they got caught, slightly embarrassed but never too sorry. It's been really good. _They've_ been good, her and Castle.

He's spent the majority of his time alternating between healing, resting, making it to doctors' appointments and writing his new book, but he'd quickly grown bored with being cooped up at home. He often texted or called her at work, consulted on the cases with her while simultaneously whining about the monotony of his day, or complaining about missing out on all the action. But she'd been strict about the doctor's orders: no 'active duty' for him just yet. And some of his texts weren't even work-related at all, not at _all_, making her blush deep down to her very toes and silently curse Castle when she caught those knowing smirks from either Ryan or Esposito.

And she's missed having him around; she won't even try to deny that. But it's the eve of his return to the precinct now, and although Castle himself can't wait until tomorrow, when he's finally allowed to officially rejoin her, the very same thought fills Kate with nothing but dread.

Which is why she did what she did today, something she should have done _months _ago. And even though she knows with absolute certainly how very upset and angry he'll be with her for going behind his back, she's done it anyway. Not that she likes it, _damn it_, not that she's looking forward to it herself. No, she certainly wouldn't be doing this if she didn't hate the alternative even more.

Yet she's taken the choice from him because she needs him alive, would rather have him safe and pissed off at her than happy and _dead_.

Standing in front of his door now, Kate knows this will come down to a fight, and she's not looking forward to it, but she won't compromise here, not even when she knows Castle's anger will be justified. She likes where they've been heading the past couple of months and she won't threaten that, won't give it up.

She's made the choice, for both of them, and he'll have to learn to live with that. And if he can't…

Her mind shuts down immediately, unable to even complete that thought as her hand forms a fist and drums resolutely against his door. It's time to just do this. It's what needs to happen, and it's for the best.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

"Maybe it's for the best." Her voice is compassionate but determined, not leaving much room for argument. She's not sorry, she's _not. _It's hard though, hard because the consequence of her actions is standing irritated and incensed right in front of her, and it's not a pretty sight.

"For the…for the _best_? Best for whom, Kate? Oh sorry, stupid question – apparently it's 'for the best' when it's not affecting _you_."

She understands his anger, she really does, but the words still sting. Does he seriously think that little of her? Still, she doesn't reply, doesn't defend herself. She's probably responding too passively to his outburst, too passively by her own standards anyway, but she really feels for him here. After all, he's the one who's going to be the most affected by the repercussions of this. So instead of standing up for herself, she says, "It's gonna be okay, Castle."

Which turns out to be the worst thing possible.

"Easy for you to say!" he scoffs furiously. "You'll still be waking up in the morning and doing your job! She's only banning _me_ from the precinct-"

"No, no, she isn't!" Kate interjects quickly, still going for calm. "I made sure that's _not_ what she meant."

Judging by the look he's giving her now, this also wasn't the right thing to say. _Damn_.

They're standing in his study, the heavy mahogany desk between them forming a physical barrier, mirroring exactly the mental one which he'd immediately drawn when she confessed what she'd done. He's leaning away from her, his shoulders hunched in a subconscious – almost defensive – way, and she hates it, hates the way he's protecting himself from her now, from what she came here to say, no doubt wondering what it means for the two of them, how it will affect them. How it will change them. But it won't, it _won't_.

"Not what she _meant_? Didn't you just tell me that _your_ boss," he spits the word like it's a personal insult, "Captain Victoria _Iron_ Gates told you that after what happened last month, she wasn't going to let me work with you guys anymore? Or did _I_ get that all wrong?" His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and it hurts, burns, because he has every right to be cynical about this, and he's blasting gaping holes in her fairly flimsy defense. Kate squirms in place, her eyes shying away from his.

"Well," she stammers – she actually _stammers_ – "she said that she'd already considered before – many times in fact – how if something happened to you, it might reflect badly on the department. And then, after it got out that you were not only directly involved but also_ injured_ in an actual shooting last month, she said she'd be a fool to allow you back in the field with us again."

"Oh, here we go," he growls, rolling his eyes exasperatedly as he throws his hands up in frustration, obviously preparing to launch right back into the argument. And then he pauses, his eyes whipping suddenly to hers, suspiciousness clouding them when he catches the slight tremor of her gaze before it drops to the floor. Her unusual quietness, the timidity in her posture…this is nothing like her, not at all. No, Kate Beckett _fights_ her fights, strong and unyielding and fierce. So why is she suddenly so passive about this? Why isn't she opposing Gates, opposing the decision? Defending him and his work with the force?

And then it hits him.

"You agree with her," he accuses, his voice low, disbelieving. Her answering silence speaks loud and clear and he feels nauseated.

"What did you do, Kate?" he moans, the sense of foreboding gripping him. There's more, he just _knows_ there's more. He's already dreading her next words, but he needs to hear them anyway.

She doesn't even possess the courage to look him in the eye when she says it.

"I told her about us."

"You did _what_?" he groans, his head falling backwards in a gesture of despair, his eyes momentarily gazing at the ceiling as he tries to come in terms with what she just said.

"I'm sorry, Castle, okay? I'm sorry," she urges, all the while trying to defend herself. "But I had to."

"Oh really! You _had _to? Or you _wanted _to? Because see, this whole time, I'm here thinking we're in this _together_." He's openly hostile now, anger and sarcasm dripping from each word, and the change is unsettling.

"Castle-" she starts, but he'll have none of it. Visibly irate, his fury's bubbling right beneath the surface, frighteningly close to spilling over.

"It was _our_ secret, Kate!" he shouts, and the razor-sharp strength of his voice, the betrayal, makes her wince in surprise.

"_Ours_," he adds for emphasis. "How could you just go to Gates and rat us out like that? _Without_ me? Without _talking _to me first?"

"She's _my_ boss, Castle. It was _my_ decision." Her eyes find his. "And it was a _stupid_ secret anyway," she adds defiantly. She means it, means every word. It was one of the stupidest, most selfish things she's ever come up with.

"_What_?" he squeaks, the surprise making his voice high, girly even. "Kate, it was _your_ idea in the first place!"

"I know, and it was _stupid_, okay? It was dumb and selfish. And irresponsible." She chews at her bottom lip.

He falls silent at that, takes a second to calm down, sucking in a few rattling breaths. Sometimes when he gets too winded now, wheezing sounds escape his lips, a clear indicator that his lungs are still having problems expanding properly. She gives him a minute, waits him out until he has it all under control again. When he speaks a couple moments later, his voice is quiet again, but his anger's still there, merely frosted over by the layer of ice covering his words.

"Irresponsible _how?_"

She inhales shakily, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the bottom hem of her jacket as her eyes avoid his. "Being with you…_us_…" She finally looks at him. "It changes the way I work, Castle."

He sighs, turns away briefly before facing her again. "Okay," he acknowledges, weariness and defeat weighing his shoulders down heavily. "Okay, how…how _exactly_ does us being together change anything about the way you – _we_ – work?"

"It…it just does, okay? Castle, it does. You _know_ it does," Kate says stepping closer to the desk, narrowing the gap between them, urging him to see her point.

"No," he replies bluntly. "No, I really don't." He leans back, settling onto the table against the wall as he contemplates her words, his face only growing more confused. And more disappointed. There's blatant disappointment there, and Kate just wants to go to him, bypass the desk which separates them and hug him, comfort him, take the pain away and make him all better. But that's not why she came here, and that's not what she's trying to accomplish tonight, no matter how hard it is for her to see him like this.

"Kate, I've been in love with you for the better part of the past two years. But I've never, _never_ let it compromise me. Or _you_, for that matter, or the work we do together. And it's good work, important work, and I always thought we were pretty great at it." He gives her a small, sad smile which shatters her heart. "So what's changed?" His voice drops, that last question housing so many other questions within it, and she can see it, can see his incomprehension, the sudden insecurity.

But it's so simple. Why can't he understand? Things _have_ changed; they've changed _so_ much at scares her.

"Castle, you got _shot_," she moans, her eyes momentarily closing.

"Yes, I know, Kate. I was there, remember?" he throws back, impatience and frustration lacing his words, his posture. He's done being reasonable. "I just don't see how that affects the way we work together. Or how it somehow gave you the crazy urge to go to _Gates_ of all people and tell her everything about us."

He's wounded. Angry. Betrayed. She knew it would happen, all of it, but it's still so hard, still so ridiculously difficult to do in person. She doesn't even respond, doesn't know how to.

"What is this _really_ about?" Castle hates how his voice quivers when he says the words, but a sudden, cold fear has just gripped his heart and he cannot shake the feeling that this isn't even about the shooting anymore, was never about the shooting in the first place. No, it's about _them_.

She doesn't answer, says nothing for a long while, and it sets him yet further on edge, insecurity creeping throughout every one of his senses. The feeling of having done something bad, something irreparable he isn't even aware of yet possesses him. They've been so good together, so _perfect_. But what if that's not the way she's looking at it? At _them_? What if this is just her way of letting him go, of ending everything?

"Just tell me what I did _wrong_, Kate," he pleads, voice suddenly desperate. "Just tell me and I swear I'll make it up to you." No, he's not above begging, not where Kate Beckett is concerned.

Her eyes snap up to his then, features etched in surprise and incomprehension before it dawns on her. She shakes her head. Violently.

"Nothing!" She assures him, the intensity and conviction in that one single word indisputable. "You did absolutely _nothing _wrong, Castle." She sighs, her eyes growing tender, compassionate. They entreat him to understand her point of view, whatever that point is, but he doesn't understand, he just doesn't get it, and Castle can feel his aggravation growing once more.

"Then why are you punishing me?" he bursts out, anger once again leaking past his words.

"It's _not_ a punishment!" she cries out, the intensity of her tone matching his.

"Really?" he snaps defiantly. "Because it sure as hell feels like one."

Her temper rises, rivaling his own now. This is absurd, and she's sure as hell going to tell him so.

"Stop being so damn ridiculous, Castle! It's for your own protection."

"Oh, really? _My _protection? Then why _now_? Why the sudden need to protect me _now_? Why not last year, or the year before that, or the year before _that_?" He pushes himself up off the table to loom over his desk, staring daggers in her direction. "Besides," he spits stubbornly, "I thought the whole point of keeping us a secret in the first place was so that we could continueworking _together_. And now here you are, tearing us apart over the first little bump in the road!"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Rick," she responds coldly, annoyed at his childishness. "No one is tearing anyone apart. But it was _not_ just 'a little bump in the road', so stop trying to play it down." She glares at him, takes a step forward, holding his gaze. "You were _shot_, for Christ's sake! Gunned down by a lowlife druggie, right in front of my eyes." She doesn't even notice when or how her control slips, only that all of a sudden, her voice is trembling, eyes abruptly filling with unshed tears.

"Okay, okay," he backpedals immediately, his anger ebbing at the sight of her distress, the sudden recall of what had happened to him obviously shaking her. He tries a different approach instead.

"But these things happen, Kate. It's part of the job. And these things have _already_ happened – to me, to you – before. I _know_the risks, I've always known them. That's why I signed that God-damned release waiver all those years back!"

"Yes, you signed a waiver, fine. That doesn't make you invincible." He draws a harsh breath to interrupt her, but she doesn't give him the chance. "It's not your _job_, Castle. It's mine, but not _yours_. I'm a cop by choice, I was taught and trained to handle this line of work, but you're just a civilian. A civilian _consultant_-"

"So what if I am? What's that even supposed to _mean_? That I'm suddenly not good enough to run around with you guys anymore?" he cries indignantly.

"No! That's not what I'm saying at all!" She takes a step back, frustrated and aggravated, a caged animal. She can't seem to get through to him, not one bit, and at this very moment, she _hates_his stubbornness, his thick-headed, childish nature which absolutely refuses to see reason.

"Then what_ are_ you saying, Kate? That a cop could have handled it better?" He sounds tired, bitter. But he's also daring her somehow, baiting her to say _something_. "Tell me, _explain_ to me: what was there that I could have done differently? Enlighten me on this, Kate, please. If it were you, or Ryan, or Esposito, how would that have made a difference when that door opened? With your guns still strapped in your holsters? How could it have gone _any_ differently?"

"It couldn't have," she agrees quietly.

"So why do _I_ have to take the heat? Why are you pushing _me_ away, banning _me_ from the precinct? Just because that damn door happened to open up on _me_? If it were Kevin or Javier, would you act on the same principle? And don't give me that crap about me being just a civilian consultant. It's deeply insulting when we both know very well that I've proven myself time and time again over the years, with or without a gun, and without going through any kind of professional training."

She stays silent.

"I don't get it, Kate," he continues on a disappointed sigh, his eyes searching hers almost hopelessly. "Why the double standard? How am I any different from the guys?"

His words seem to snap something inside of her, anguish and pain flashing quickly in the dark hazel of her eyes before she quickly and oh so expertly disguises them completely. His words must have hit a nerve, hurt her, but they also seem to have ignited a spark of anger, defiant anger. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly before fixing him with a fierce, somber gaze.

Her voice trembles slightly when she speaks, but the words themselves are razor sharp. "The situation is different because I love the guys, but I'm _in_ _love_ with _you_, you _moron_!"

Oh, she's furious alright, but it's the sheer edge of despair which varnishes her declaration that catches his attention, almost as much as the actual words themselves. He's struck speechless, gaping at her with wide eyes, but she shies away from his stare, plopping down unceremoniously onto the couch instead. She looks tired and defeated, her hands nervously twisting in her lap while her hair falls across her face, effectively shielding her from his sight. She didn't expect those words to come out quite like that, not for the very first time, and certainly not in the middle of a fight.

"Castle," she starts anew, her voice raspy and barely a whisper now as she contemplates her fidgeting fingers, never looking up at him, "you were _shot_. Three rounds, directly into your chest, so close to your heart, right in front of my eyes. Three damned smoking holes in your Kevlar and you..." her voice trembles, "the sight of you…just lying there, unconscious and barely breathing…it shook me, alright?" Her eye rise to his then, shimmery and shiny, lips tightly pursed as she contemplates him silently, willing him to understand.

And he does, he really does, but…

"I know, Kate." He takes a tentative step in her direction. "I know you were scared, okay? I was scared, too, but-"

"No Castle, you _don't_ know, alright? It didn't just _scare_ me, dammit!" A single, angry tear falls, but she furiously wipes it away, breathing hard. "I was crouching there, trying to keep you alive while waiting for that damn ambulance, and all I could think was '_please don't let him die, please don't let him die, not him too_._ Because if he dies, that's it for me, there's nothing else left._' And you're right, Castle, _that_ scared the shit out of me. _That's_ what's really changed. I…" She drops her gaze momentarily, but suddenly she's looking back at him, steel in her eyes, voice resolute. "I just can't deal with it again, with losing you like that. I _can't_ be scared for your life while I'm on the job, every time we're anywhere even remotely unsafe. It wouldn't be fair or reasonable, and it definitely wouldn't be smart. It could get us _both_killed, or even put others in harm's way if I chose to prioritize your safety above anyone else's."

He shakes his head gently, attempting to disguise his own misgivings with an encouraging smile which doesn't quite reach his eyes. "But you don't _have_ to do that, Kate. You don't."

"But I already _do_!" she exclaims. "I do that _all the time_. Just the mere _idea_ of taking you back into the field again makes my stomach churn!"

He sees it then, the trauma, the fear, even the shame. The belief that she's weak for having these emotions, nothing but weak and small and frightened. It's rooted deep, not something he can wave off with casual dismissal or simple reassurances. This is bigger than that, way bigger.

"Okay," he says slowly, calmly, acknowledging her words while trying to process them, make sense of them. "I get it, I do." He steps lightly around the desk, coming to stand right in front of her. "But I still don't get why _now_." He leans down, knees bending reflexively, wanting to see her, talk to her eye-to-eye, but then he catches the caution in her features, the nearly imperceptible hunch of her shoulders as they tighten with tension, and he stops immediately, rising back to his feet in one smooth motion, maintaining that small distance between them, not wanting to push.

He continues, voice softer now that he's in closer proximity. "We've been here before, Kate, have feared for each others' lives a hundred times over. And I loved you – even then – you know that, _through_ those times."

She closes her eyes against his gentle stare, her chin falling to her chest as she thinks back to those times, to that horrible summer when she never so much as picked up the phone. But he doesn't need her pity or an apology right now, he just wants to understand.

She takes a deep breath, tries to pull her scattered thoughts into coherent sentences.

"Maybe this time it was simply one too many for me, was too close of a call," she tells him, tentatively looking back up into his eyes. She takes one of his hands into hers, her heart leaping when she feels his grip tighten, unwavering yet gentle as his fingers glide over her skin.

With her other hand, Kate motions between the two of them, a soft, serene smile dancing over her lips. "This _right_ between us, it's come to mean so much to me, Castle. It…it's _solidified_ over the course of the last few months. It's not just some possibility anymore, some _maybe_ in the far distant future; it's something we're _consciously_ heading towards. And I can't have it jeopardized. I can't. The stakes are just too high for me now."

Her eyes are tender and warm and so open, God, _so open_, as he gazes into them, as she finally lets him see all the things she hasn't dared to voice. It makes his heart beat twice as fast, thrash wildly about in his chest because holy shit, Kate Beckett just admitted that she might be seriously, completely, nothing-could-ever-split-us-apart in love with him.

She doesn't hold the look for long, eyes dropping self-consciously, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks crimson, but there's a comfortable silence in the room. He doesn't know how to respond to what she's just said; how are you even supposed to respond to something as huge, as amazing as that?

So Castle does the only thing he can think of, hoping he's not ruining it. He finally allows himself to crouch in front of her, their eyes at last on the same level, and he does what he knows best. He makes a joke.

"You know," he starts in a low hum, watching her carefully for her reaction, "you just openly admitted to being crazily in love with me. And that you kinda wanna keep me around for, like, _forever._"

She blushes fully at his words, but her eyes still roll, and he knows he did well when that familiar, hazel twinkle appears, a sure sign that she's accepting his challenge.

"What's the matter, Castle?" she quips, smiling back slightly with one eyebrow playfully arched. "Getting cold feet?"

He manages to bite back an automatically sarcastic retort and contemplates her for a moment instead, wondering what answer to give her, wondering how she could even ask such a thing when she _knows_ how ridiculously in love with her he is. In the end, he decides to forego the customary wit and humor in exchange for a more uncomfortable truth. Tit for tat, right?

"Actually, I'm a little elated," he admits, a huge sigh escaping his lungs. "Well, okay, a _lot_ elated. And reassured," he adds timidly, both an unknown shyness and a sheepish seriousness which Kate has never seen before settling over his countenance.

"Elated?" she repeats, her tone light and amused. "Reassured? What would you need reassurance about?" she asks, her eyes twinkling merrily at him.

It's his turn to feel embarrassed. He clears his throat, locking his gaze upon their intertwined fingers. "When you came in here earlier and said we couldn't work together anymore, and then that you told Gates about us, it kinda sounded like…" His voice trails off.

"Sounded like what?" she nudges gently.

"Like you wanted to get rid of me," he murmurs.

_What?_ Surely he's not serious!

She's taken completely aback, both disbelief and distress flashing across her face simultaneously, but he doesn't see that, of course, because he's still not looking at her, and _screw that_! She grabs his face between both hands and presses a long, hard, unapologetic kiss against his lips, smirking in satisfaction at the dazed look emblazoned across his features when she finally leans back.

"You idiot," she mutters, still grinning at him. "If I wanted to get rid of you, I'd send you straight _into _the action. With my luck and your quick mouth, you'd be dead by morning."

He lets loose a small, appreciative laugh. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we? It would really be a shame, and such a loss for mankind – my ruggedly handsome looks," he jests, that trademark Castle twinkle in his eye as he wiggles his brows suggestively at her.

She shakes her head at him, pursing her lips in a vain attempt to conceal her smile, her fingers, which have been playing with his ears this whole time, gently tugging at one of his lobes.

"No, we definitely wouldn't want that," she agrees, pulling his face in for another heated kiss.

"Well, let's make sure it doesn't come to that then," he decides with a grin. "And Kate?" he adds, waiting until her eyes return to his. "I love you, too."

She smiles back at him, her heart bursting with emotion at his words, those ridiculously simple words which mean so damn much. She leans in and kisses him again ever so lightly, both of them savoring the moment in silence.

"So you're okay with this?" she finally murmurs, her eyes growing serious again. "With staying out of the action, out of the line of fire?"

He sighs deeply. "Okay?" He shakes his head. "No. Not at all. But," he adds, raising a finger when he sees she's about to object, "I understand your reasons." He leans forward slightly, resting his forehead against hers. "And I accept them."

She can't help smiling then, her whole face radiating gratitude as her nose brushes gently against his. "I'll make it up to you, okay?" she promises, her voice dropping suggestively as she pulls away just far enough to meet his gaze.

"You think my wounded ego needs comforting, Beckett?" he teases, watching as her lips purse yet again, her eyes narrowing as she contemplates him, before another smile breaks loose. She kisses him for the fourth time, and he makes sure it lasts longer than the other three combined.

When they finally disentangle, there's seriousness in her eyes again. "You know this doesn't mean in any way that you're off the team, or out of the precinct, or away from the boys or the cases, right?" she asks. '_Or from me',_ which is what she really wants to say, but doesn't. "You can still come with me to crime scenes, still come to the precinct in the morning, bring me coffee." He smiles at that, squeezing her hand gently as she continues. "We'll still camp out in front of the murder board, breaking our heads over cases, still eat Chinese take-out when we get held up late, and crack jokes in the break room and play pranks on the boys. Just not… not the field anymore, okay? No more dangerous situations." She studies his face, searching his eyes. "You…you _do_ understand, don't you?" she asks tentatively.

"I do." He says, eyes tender, accepting, if a little apprehensive. There are obviously still things to discuss, things on his mind, things he won't say, but Kate thinks that maybe it's better this way, to leave the other questions for later, even if that makes her a bit of a coward.

Because right now he's grinning at her, telling her that it's alright, that whatever else needs to be talked about, he won't press it tonight. And she grins back, small at first, but then her lips are stretching into a full-blown smile, her fingers stroking the side of his face in a wonderfully familiar gesture. Silent happiness blooms inside her chest, her love for this amazingly considerate and generous man setting her heart both, at peace and aflame at the same time.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

END

* * *

_So this is this end. For now. What do you think? _

_Also, don't fret that it's over, I've got some good news for you. I've already have a sequel planned, in case you guys are interested, to this particular story. It might take some time for me to get it started, but there is a loose outline writen down, along with tons of ideas. So cross for me to find the time and inspiration to type it all up.:)_


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